An Essential Desire
by AShipperWithNoLife
Summary: America has proven himself to be a powerful nation, so of course he'd be able to ignore unnecessary criticism. Then again, unnecessary does not apply to every rude comment. Besides, if the words did hurt, he wouldn't expect anyone to be there for him. As it turns out, America had over estimated himself, and could possibly end up with a submissive role. Despite his strength.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story is rated M for later chapters. Other wise, there really isn't anything triggering or disturbing. Unless of course, the writing turns out to be awful, and the characters are too out of character. It's not my place to decide whether this is a good story or not.**

 **So as it turns out, I ended up posting the first chapter of a romance story on Valentines day. I hope everyone had a lovely time, even if you were single (don't worry about it, I'm single as well, and I'm proud of it :).**

 **Please leave a review, if you'd like.**

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There wasn't too much time before the meeting would finally begin, and England and America happened to be the only two nation in the conference room. Despite the fact that England was regularly an irascible individual, he was actually feeling more irritable than normal. He was full of it, really. America's presence was not helping, but instead, created more unnecessary tension within the Brit. The mounds of hamburgers the younger of the two would continue to eat, the pungent scent that radiated off of the food, and the disgusting fashion in which the oversized meal was devoured. Only one word could describe the sight; abhorrent. England continued to glare at the so called 'idiot', his thoughts smoldering with rancor, _How can anyone not cringe at the sight of this disgusting nation?_

As America continued to shove hamburgers down his throat, England snapped, "Haven't you eaten enough already, or does your spoiled stomach still 'need' nourishment?"

America gulped down a burger, and answered with a casual hum, "Nope, I'm still hungry."

England couldn't help but scowl at the statement, "Really? You're _still_ hungry?"

"Yep." Was all America replied with, clearly unaware of whatever ever insults England wanted to stab him with. Now infuriated, England scoffed, "Have you ever thought of maybe, ignoring your hunger pangs for once? Come on America, just admit it. You're the fattest nation on the planet, and you're only going to-"

"I don't care, England."

England felt himself tremble with agonizing levels of rage. The tranquility America seemed to possess, regardless of the indignity being used against him, was just exasperating. All England wanted to do now was brutally destroy America's emotional barriers. After a few moments of desperate thought, he knew exactly what to say, "You're my biggest mistake."

In bemusement, America remarked, "Okay then? Why exactly am I your biggest mistake?"

"Come on America, you ruin everyone's economies. Not only that, but you cease to stay out of other nation's personal conflict. Also, have you ever wondered why it's difficult for you to make friends? It's because you're downright annoying! There's hardly anyone in the world who wants to hang around an idiot that shouts 'I'm the hero!' half of the time! Actually, why am I even blaming myself for this? You were born defective!"

Now wroth, America barked, "How is this suddenly my fault!? Seriously, you were suppose to raise me, but instead you abandoned me for most of my childhood! So yeah, I think my 'immaturity' is your doing. Besides, you're the one starting pointless arguments, so you're just being a hypocrite!"

"I'm being a hypocrite? Is that your best argument?" England smirked, "Well, at least I'm not the one with a failing government. Apparently, you never did smarten up after your 'Great Depression'. Hopefully after another tragic depression, you'll be able to _think_ for once. Maybe even learn to stop taking food for granted."

For some reason, America wasn't able to brush off the comment. He knew better than to care about what England thought of him, but the words just felt so, true. Apparently, England wasn't finished, and the fact that he had just found his ex-colony's weak spot gave him a sense of control. Therefore, continued to rant on with his jeers, "I should've just let France raise you. Yes, you were cute as a child, but now, you're just a burden to me. I regret ever having you as a colony."

America felt his throat tighten at the last comment. When England saw tears develop within America's eyes, he returned his gaze to his paperwork, satisfied. For the first time ever, he had managed to demolish the dense steel that seemed to be the substance of America's emotions. Quite an achievement, if he must say so himself. Didn't he feel any remorse? Well, not at first, but when England witnessed the struggle America was going through just to hide his pain from the other nations as they filed in, he began to feel somewhat, peccant. Yet, for the sake of his stubborn pride, he just brushed the feeling off, and continued to browse through his notes.

Meanwhile, America continued to grip the edge of his seat, bowing his head in shame as more nations continued to glance at him. Nations he was once able to face with ease, but instead, he began to feel his own skin prickle whenever he made eye contact with anyone. All he wanted to do was tear his face off from all of the humiliation. To him, it would've been the equivalent of taking off an embarrassing costume.

By the time every nation was settled in their seat, the meeting began. Unfortunately, America was suppose to share his presentation first, and when he made no move to do so, the other nations began to stare at him expectantly. Bowing his head even more so that blond strands of hair veiled his face, America mumbled, "I have nothing to present."

At this, some nations suppressed a sigh of relief. France however, couldn't help but glance at America with consternation. Even though he knew it wasn't necessarily his place to be concerned whenever America was feeling down; he still had to stifle the urge to coddle his love interest, and of course, he was ashamed of this. Completely and utterly contrite by the fact that he was in love with a nation, when the chances of him being loved back were almost non existent. Then again, how could France resist such a youthful beauty. Those lean muscles that were somewhat prominent against his smooth skin, the strands of sandy hair that flowed as they pleased, and the deep azure orbs that could create the soothing sensation of an ocean for anyone who dared to gaze into them. Not to mention, the jocular personality that did nothing more than compliment the physical manifestation. It was all enough to put a goddess of beauty to shame. Sometimes it made France wonder; how is it that most nation hate America?

Time continued to tick by, but instead of recovering from the encounter with England, America only continued to sulk. The sight, it was becoming too much for France to bear. Every time the young nation curled into himself, every time he tried to maintain his breathing to prevent the tears from fleeing made France's already lonesome heart clench some more. Out of all of the people in the world, his precious America did not deserve to suffer alone.

At last, the meeting was concluded. Of course, almost every nation left as soon as they could. Yet, by the time every nation aside from France and America had evacuated the conference room, America had surprisingly showed no signs of budging. France decided that he would have no more of this, so he approached America, and asked, "Mon cheri, what's wrong?"

America turned away from France, "I'm fine."

A sympathetic smile decorated France's expression, as he tilted America's head, so his that dearest had no choice but to make eye contact with him, "Are you sure?"

Although America was somewhat comforted by the action, he could not help but tear up when he thought of lying to France once more. It would've been pointless to hide the woe anyways, for the older of the two could just simply detect it in his eyes. Instead of trying to coerce the answer out of the already fragile nation, France decided to embrace him. While America received the solace, he began to sob. France began to rub soothing circles around America's back. His voice was just above a whisper, "It's okay Amerique. Just take your time."

While he continued to bawl, America rested his cheek against France's shoulder, allowing himself to absorb the comfort it's owner bounteously provided. Of course, France did not enjoy the idea of witnessing his beloved in such distress, but that did not stop him from savoring the opportunity of comforting America. The younger nation was actually leaning on his shoulder instead of just pushing him away. Which of course, made the moment all the more enjoyable. Perhaps France did in fact, have a chance at winning America's heart. After all, he never really did abhor France. The contemporary aspiration filled France's heart, so he could not help but allow his smile to grow.

Eventually, America's sobs became nothing more than a snivel. France allowed his head to rest fondly on one of America's shoulders, and invited with a hushed tone, "I know of a very nice restaurant not too far from here. Would you like to eat there with me? Who knows? Maybe some food will make you feel better."

"No," America whimpered, his eyes glazed over with fresh tears, "I don't want to eat at a restaurant!"

France backed up enough just to give America a shocked expression, but not too far as to let go of his embrace, "Amerique, why not?"

America turned away from France, and bawled, "I'm just so fat, and I don't deserve to eat!"

France furrowed his eyebrows, and demanded, "Who told you this?"

"It doesn't matter, because it's true!"

"No Amerique," France's tone soften, but was still firm, "Who ever told you that is wrong. Do not starve yourself for this individual. Chances are, they don't even care for your well being."

For some reason France couldn't quite comprehend, the words had only caused America to choke on an abrupt and violent sob. What did he do wrong? After all, he was only trying to help America, and everything seemed to be working out just fine until he invited the younger nation to eat out with him. Then, it hit him. France knew that the question would be risky, but he decided to ask it anyways, "Amerique, was this someone you cared about?"

At first, America seemed reluctant to answer, but it didn't take too long before he began to vent, "England was the one who called me fat, and told me that the Great Depression wasn't enough to put me in my place! He also told me that I'm a burden to him, since I was once his colony! Maybe if I didn't turn out to be such a failure, he would still love me!"

France didn't even bother hiding his shock at this news, but still tried to be reassuring, "I-I'm sure Angleterre didn't mean any of that. Even if it doesn't seem that way. I'll have a talk with him later, but do try to take your mind off of those harsh words."

Now comforted, America allowed himself to rest his head on France's shoulder, and said with a sniff, "Thank you."

"Pas de problème," France allowed himself to smile once more. There was a moment of silence before France finally decided to repeat his earlier request, "Would you like to come with me to that restaurant now?"

For a moment, France thought he could detect a nervous glint within America's cerulean eyes, but ignored it when he received his response, "Of course."

France finally freed America of his embrace, and chirped, "Let's go then! It isn't that far. We could probably walk there in about ten minutes."

America followed France as they made their way towards the restaurant he seemed ever so eager to eat at. By the time they reached their destination, America couldn't help, but notice that the restaurant was a French one. _Of course,_ he figured, _he'd choose a French restaurant over any other. Even in the middle of New York._ By the time they were both settled at a table, and were freed of the waitress's presence, France inquired, "Aside from what happened today, has there been anything going on with you lately?"

"Not really," America answered, and then added, "I just still don't understand why you want to eat with me. We just don't really hang out that often."

"Exactly," France began to explain, "We do not spend enough time together. I just wanted to form a stronger bond with you is all. There would be nothing wrong with that, non?"

"Yeah but," America started nervously, pausing for a moment to find the right words, "I don't think that would be necessary. Wouldn't it be more appropriate for you to hang out with Canada, or someone you actually know well."

"This is relevant," France tried to defend, "I mean, there have been some rather important times we have spent together in the old days. After all, I did help you gain your independence during the revolutionary-"

France immediately stopped when he noticed the pain that began to flood in the depths of America's eyes. After giving the younger nation an apologetic glance, his eyes instantly grew a sudden interest for the ground under the table. _Mon deur,_ he thought as his confidence began to diminish, _how could I be so stupid? To bring up such a sensitive topic. Out in public too! Not only did I hurt Amerique, but I could've given away our identities._ The two did not utter a word until they waitress returned with two glasses full of frigid water. By the time she had her writing pad ready, she asked, "Are you guys ready to order?"

France stared expectantly at America. For a moment, America stayed silent before finally saying, "I'm not that hungry."

With a sigh, France said to the waitress, "I guess we'll just have some crescent rolls."

When the waitress left once more, France rested a comforting hand on America's shoulder, "I'm so sorry Amerique. I didn't mean to reopen old wounds."

"It's fine," America insisted, "It wasn't your fault."

It didn't take too long for the crescent rolls to arrive, and as soon as they were set on the table, France picked one up, and began to eat it hungrily. Once he was finished with the first crescent roll, he looked over at America, and noticed that the younger nation showed no interest in the food. France sighed at this, "Amerique, could you at least _try_ to eat one?"

America grabbed one of the crescent rolls, and began to nibble on it. About half way through the pastry, the nibbling was replaced with that of gulps a python could demonstrate. By the time the basket was empty, France hardly even had a chance to eat a second crescent roll. With an affectionate laugh, he asked America, "Are you sure you weren't hungry?"

America answered, "Well, I'm not hungry anymore."

"Figures," France replied before adding, "so I guess it's time for me to pay the bill?"

"Wait," America inquired, "What do you mean by pay the bill? This isn't a date."

"I am aware of that," France started innocently, then asked, "but is there something wrong with buying a meal for mon ami?"

"No, but you hardly ate any of it, so I should pay."

"You're so polite Amerique, but can't I just do you a favor once and awhile?"

America sighed in defeat, "Fine, you can pay for the meal."

Once that conflict was resolved, France payed for the meal, and left the restaurant with America. As they continued to walk down the street, France had come up with yet another request, "Would you like to spend the night at my hotel room? I'd really appreciate your company."

America examined France's pleading expression, becoming even more suspicious of the older nation's sudden obsession for his presence. As strange as the Frenchman was acting, America was actually beginning to consider the offer. He was sick of spending most of his time at home, and the thought of being alone at his house after the conflict he had faced during the meeting was just dreary. After a few moments of thought, America finally answered, "Sure."

Fortunately, the hotel wasn't far from the restaurant, so America and France were able to walk the short distance in the span of a few minutes. However, in the short period of time, England's harsh words continued to echo in America's head, _Hopefully after another tragic depression, you'll be able to think for once. Maybe even learn to stop taking food for granted. I regret ever having you as a colony._ By the time the two nations arrived in the hotel room, America sat down on one of the beds, and stared at a wall as he tried to prevent tears from coming. France seemed to be oblivious to the gloomy mood as he asked, "Is there anything you would like to watch on la télé?"

America muttered his reply, "Not really."

France couldn't help but frown when he heard America's voice crack. Sitting down next to the younger nation, he inquired, "Are you thinking about what Angleterre told you again?"

"I should be over it by now," America explained, "but it still hurts."

"As I've said before," France advised, "It's unlikely that Angleterre thinks such things of you. He was probably just having a rough morning, and had no idea what he was saying."

"It looked like he meant it."

When a sly tear escaped from America's eyes, France embraced him, and assured, "Even if he did mean any of those words, just remember that there is still someone in this world who thinks differently of you."

America buried his face into France's shirt in an attempt to stifle his sobs. As the older nation continued to stroke the hair on the back of his head, America thought angrily to himself, _What came over me? How can I be this comfortable with a nation I hardly talk to?_ France on the other hand continued to patiently comfort the other. At that moment, he didn't care if America was even crying over something as ridiculous as a gold fish dying. All that mattered to him was that the younger nation was once again, seeking his comfort. Receiving such trust in the first place was a rare commodity, and France was desperate to win over America's heart.

By the time the sobbing finally died down, America was leaning against France with his eyes half open. France wiped the remaining tears from America's face, and stated, "I think you should get some rest now."

America mumbled his protest, "But it's still noon."

France glanced at the clock to discover that it was four twenty-eight, then decided to correct America, "It's almost four thirty in the evening."

"That's still too early."

France sighed, and began to gently tuck America into the bed. Much to his surprise, the younger nation didn't protest. Either he was too tired to continue the argument, or mesmerized by the comfort France had provided. Since America was half asleep anyways, France decided that it would be safe to go under the covers and snuggle with him. When France noticed that America was still forcing himself to stay awake, he explained with a persuasive tone, "You had a rough day, Amerique, and you're finished with all of your work. Just sleep now."

When America finally drifted into a deep sleep, France continued to admire the young nation's peaceful features. By the time he was able to find his voice, after being amazed by such a beautiful youth, he whispered to the sleeping America, "Perhaps one day you will love me back, mon mignon."


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Oh my, it's been a month since I've updated this story. Sorry about leaving you guys hanging ._. Also, I'm glad that there are people excited about this story, and I just hope that the extremely late update didn't make anyone lose faith in it. I'm definitely going to start updating this more frequently.**

 **Well, I may have made this chapter a bit too fluffy, but I hope you guys don't mind. Also, happy PI** **day everyone! (Even though I don't even acknowledge this holiday).**

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France awoke the next morning, and glanced out the window to find that it was still dark outside. Furrowing his eyebrows, he decided to read the clock, and found that it was almost five am. Then he gazed over at America, only to see that he was still asleep. _He's been asleep for twelve hours now,_ France thought, _he must have been extremely exhausted from all of that crying._ France continued to watch the young nation sleep, and couldn't help but titter whenever America mumbled something about being a hero. To him, it was the equivalent of watching a puppy have a dream.

Suddenly, America began to inch closer to France, and hugged him while mumbling in his sleepy voice, "Mmm….it's so comfy."

France couldn't help but blush at the action. In response, he decided to stroke America's hair and cheek as if he was his precious pet. The touch caused America to snuggle even closer to France. That was, until he finally opened his eyes, and studied the situation he was currently in. After a few moments of silence, America gave the older nation a flummoxed gaze, and inquired, "France, what are you doing?"

"Nothing cheri," France replied as he quickly retreated his hand, and then added with an innocent hum, "Well, it's a good thing you're finally awake. You've been out for nearly twelve hours."

For a moment, America gave France a qualm glare, but eventually decided to shrug the uneasy feeling off when he figured that France was just being his overly affectionate self. Once that internal compromise was over, America gripped his stomach when he realized how hungry he was, and asked, "Do you think we could eat some breakfast now?"

"Where do you want to eat? I doubt there are any restaurants open right now."

"It doesn't have to be at a restaurant," America began his explanation. However, he paused for a moment to start up yet another debate with himself, _I'm sick of spending time at my house, but I suppose if France is around to keep me company, it'll feel a bit different. On a second thought, he might be fun to hang around for a while._ He continued on with his clarification, "We could eat breakfast at my house. Besides, I need to change into some new close, and I'd rather take a shower at home than at a hotel."

"Wait," France stated, and then questioned out of his disbelief, "You're letting me stay at your house?"

"Why not?" America asked, "I owe you anyways, since you helped me out and everything."

After that was said, France began to pack up his belongings while America did his best to look presentable with the lack of hygiene enhancers he had available at the moment. With some drops of water, his hair was almost manageable, despite the cowlick that refused to stay down. Other than that, he didn't seem to have a pungent odor to him, and his teeth and skin; well that was as flawless as always. Once the two nations were finished preparing to leave, France checked out of the hotel room, and they both left for America's house in a cab.

As soon as they arrived at the said house, America went to his bedroom to gather up some new clothes, and began to take his shower. Meanwhile, France decided that while America was in the shower, it would be the perfect time to have that talk with England. A few moments after dialing England's number, he was greeted with a vexatious sigh, "What do you want, stupid frog?"

"Angleterre," France began, "I think you went a little far with your insults towards Amerique."

A pang of guilt struck at England's gut, but he decided to veil it with a snappy response, "Who ever said I insulted America!? Also, since when did you actually start caring for his well being!?"

France began to feel his defensive tendencies act up when he heard the apathy being used against America, and snapped, "Don't you even care about the pain you put Amerique through!? I was watching him during the meeting, and the entire time he was holding back tears! Don't even deny the fact that you insulted him, he told me everything you said to him! He even called himself a failure, and was reluctant to eat when I offered him food! Amerique doesn't usually act like this, so I hope you feel terrible for what you have done!"

A queasy feeling began to settle in England's stomach, and this time when he replied, he did not even bother to hide his remorse, "I'm terribly sorry France. Honestly, I didn't mean any of those insults. Is America going to be okay?"

"I think he's fine now," France sighed, allowing himself to relax, "but you should still apologize to him, instead of to me."

When America walked into the living room, France told England before handing the young nation his phone, "Well, here he is."

"Hello?" America asked, and felt his heart drop when he heard England's voice on the other end, "Hello America."

"England?" America questioned, "Why would you want to talk to me?"

"I just wanted to apologize for hurting you yesterday. Are you going to be okay?"

"Don't worry about it," America answered with a smile, "I'm kind of over it now, but it was nice of you to apologize anyways."

"Well, I should get going now, I have to get ready for my flight."

"Okay, bye." Was the last thing America said before hanging up. After returning the phone to France, he immediately set off towards the kitchen, and began to search for something to eat for breakfast. As France watched America search through his cabinets in order to decide on what to eat, he offered, "I could cook you something for breakfast, if you'd like."

"No thanks," America replied, grabbing a box of cookie dough pop tarts, "I already have that taken care of."

Then America grabbed a package of pop tarts from the box, and held it out to France while asking, "Want some?"

France observed the picture of the pastries on the box. It did not look appetizing to him at all, and the fact that the words 'chocolate chip cookie dough' were printed above the poptarts didn't help. The concept made absolutely no sense to France. _Why would anyone eat a pastry stuffed with cookie dough for breakfast?_ He thought, _That's more of a dessert than a breakfast._ As disgusting as the food seemed to be to France, he also didn't want to reject the poptarts, in the fear that it might offend, or hurt his American love interest. Of course, he was aware that America was not _nearly_ as fragile as he was absentmindedly portraying him to be, but he figured that demonstrating some decent manners would be necessary, in case it somehow actually did. Using the most polite tone he could muster, France grabbed a package of the pop tarts, and replied, "Merci. I've never had one of these before, but they look very… tempting."

America's already cheery expression seemed to brighten a bit at this. Then he decided to offer, "I have some other flavors as well, if you want to try them out."

"No thanks," France began, successfully managing to restrain a grimace, "I think this will be plenty."

When France studied his first bite of the pastry with his tongue, he tried his best to stifle a gag at the cloying taste. The fact that the pop tart was also extremely dehydrating only made matters worse. By the time France was halfway done with eating the first pop tart, he set it down on the kitchen counter, and stated, "I don't think I can eat anymore of this."

America noticed that France seemed to be nauseated, and decided to inform, "You know, you didn't have to eat an entire half of a pop tart if you don't like them."

"They weren't to bad," France explained, then decided to somewhat express his opinion, "they're just a little too sweet."

"By the way," America began, deciding to change the topic as a sudden liveliness struck him, "There's this one very terrifying horror movie I'm planning on watching tonight. Wanna watch it with me?"

Upon hearing the request, France began to ponder, _I don't think this would be a good idea after what the other nations have told me, but surely he doesn't react as badly as the rumors portray him to? Well, his horror movies are terrible, so I doubt it._ Turning to face America once more, he answered, "Okay."

* * *

America clung to France's shirt as if his life depended on it; his entire form trembling as he tried to stifle his whimpers. France had an arm wrapped around America, in an attempt to comfort the young nation. Although he was somewhat disturbed by the rather gory scenes, France held no interest in the movie playing before him. He was almost half tempted to turn off the television, especially since America seemed to be on the verge of panicking, but since his love interest had been so intent on finishing the movie, France decided that it would be best to wait patiently throughout the rest of the film.

Suddenly, a blood curdling screech rang throughout the room; causing France to jump, and America to shriek, and bury his head into the older nation's shoulder. Once France recovered from the jump scare, he returned to attention America when he heard the younger of the two's muffled demand, "Turn it off! turn it off! TURN IT OFF!"

France grabbed the remote, and turned the television off. For a moment, the room was silent before America began to sob. While gently rubbing America's back, France explained with a sigh, "Everything's going to be okay Amerique. It was just a movie."

"I-I know," America's whimper was almost mute, "b-but it looked so real."

The two nations continued to sit on the couch in (almost) complete silence, and when America's sobs showed no signs of dying down, France sighed, and held America protectively as he advised, "Just try to take your mind off of it. Usually talking to someone helps."

By the time America finally regained some of his composure, he lifted his head in order to make eye contact with France, and asked, "W-wait, you don't think I'm being a complete wimp right now?"

"Of course not."

Confusion was present in America's eyes as he explained, "But usually everyone thinks I'm full of it when I get scared from a horror movie."

"Well, you shouldn't feel ashamed of it," France assured, "Because not everyone thinks that way."

The frown on America's face was quickly replaced by a smile as he stated, "You're the only person I know who actually cares when I get scared from a horror movie."

France quirked an eyebrow as he asked, "Doesn't Matthieu care about how you feel?"

"I guess he would, if he actually saw me in a scared state," America began, "but I usually try to hide my feelings from him, since I don't want to be a burden. The same applies to everyone else."

As France continued to gaze into America's azure orbs, he couldn't help but notice a sudden emptiness to them. _Has he been feeling lonely?_ France mentally asked himself before saying, "If you ever feel upset, please talk to me. It's not healthy to keep negative emotions bottled up."

"Thanks France," America replied in a somewhat timid tone, "You're too kind."

France couldn't help but allow a shy smile of his own to decorate his features at the response. _He's kind of cute when he acts shy._ France thought, as he felt himself somewhat melt on the inside. However, the fluttery feeling was replaced with that of disappointment when America decided to leave his embrace, and say, "I think I'll be going to bed now."

"Okay then, bonne nuit."

France watched as America walked out of the room, but when the younger nation suddenly stopped moving when he gazed down the hallway, France decided to approach him and ask, "What's wrong? Are you still scared?"

"A little," America admitted and then asked, "W-would it be too much trouble for you to come to the bedroom with me?"

"Of course not." France answered, and with that said, the two set off towards the bedroom. Once in the bedroom, America quickly burrowed himself under the covers of his bed, as if something lurking in the silhouettes of the room would attack him if he wasn't nimble. When America spoke, after a while of hiding under the covers, France couldn't help but be surprised by how childish his words sounded, "F-France? You wouldn't mind sleeping with me would you? N-not in the dirty way of course."

At that, France crawled under the covers next to America. By the time France was lying comfortably on the bed, America allowed his head to pop out from under the the blankets, and with an embarrassed blush, he added, "S-sorry if this feels a little awkward."

France shrugged, "I really don't mind."

 _Oh right, of course he wouldn't,_ America thought, as he snuggled closer to his ally. As France returned the affection, he began to muse, _I swear, Amerique becomes more adorable by the second. Unfortunately, and obviously, he's not in love with me just yet, but I think that will change one day if I keep acting friendly towards him._ Right once France's chain of thought was concluded, America stated, "You're right, we don't spend enough time together."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Okay, so I'm thinking about updating this story weekly, since it might motivate me to write the chapters more frequently. Not sure what day of the week I should update on yet, but I'll definitely let you guys know if I decide to do it this way.**

* * *

America had only been hanging out with France for a few days before the older nation had to return to his own country. Of course, America wanted to spend more time with France, and couldn't help but abhor the fact that his friend's boss gave him a bunch of work out of the blue. He knew that France would much rather be spending time with him, instead of doing a bunch of work. It was almost as if the world was trying to mock his lonely soul.

Sure, America had a few phone calls with France, but the conversations were always brief. After the phone calls, America had decided, "He must be too busy to talk to me. Maybe at the next meeting we'll be able to have a decent conversation."

America continued to ponder the situation before him, but then, a sudden emptiness began to expand when he concluded, "What if he actually _doesn't_ want to hang out with me anymore?"

Curling up on the couch, America continued to analyze the memories he had from France's visit, and couldn't help but feel ashamed when he recalled the night that he began to cling onto France because he was frightened by the horror movie. As the recollection continued to repeat itself, America cringed as prickles of shame stabbed at his stomach. While his throat began to tighten, America thought, _I think France was lying to me when he told me that he didn't think I was a wimp. How could I not see it before? It was obvious that he was annoyed by how ridiculous I was acting._

By the time America was able to find his voice, he turned his gaze towards the ground, and mumbled, "I don't care if England took back what he said, he was still right when he told me that I'm far too annoying to have any friends."

Before any tears could actually escape from his eyes, America slapped his hand against his forehead in order to express his disappointment, and muttered, "What in the world just came over me? Why do I even care about what England said when it's obvious that he didn't mean it? Seriously, I'm so much better than this."

Sure, America was having no problem overcoming whatever angsty thoughts that decided to attack him out of the blue, but none the less, he was bored out his mind when he was all alone. There was no doubt about it, he was in desperate need for the company of another nation. Although, the situation wasn't all that terrible, because by time the next world meeting was held (which coincidentally ended up being at his place again), America was actually somewhat thrilled for once. After all, he _would_ be able to see France again.

Some nations did find it somewhat unusual when they saw that America happened to be the first one to arrive to the meeting, but he didn't care when the other nations would cringe at his sudden 'exaggerated' enthusiasm for the meeting. He was just intent on being able to talk to France after such a while of not seeing him. When France finally did enter the meeting room, America immediately approached him, and greeted, "Hello France, how have you been?"

"Well, I'm definitely feeling relieved, now that all of that work is done." France answered, and then inquired, "How have you been, and also, how come you haven't been calling me that often?"

America averted his eyes away from France, finding a sudden interest in the ground as a note of compunction was undoubtedly present in his response, "Sorry about that, I wasn't trying to be rude. I just thought that you were busy, and wouldn't want me to interrupt you."

"Oh, well that's fine," France nodded in understanding before deciding to change that topic, "By the way, I'll be free of any work for an entire month. Just thought I'd let you know."

"Oh, really?" America questioned, returning his gaze back to France as a spark of excitement lurched in the pits of his stomach, "Does this mean you'll hang out with me some more?"

"Of course," France couldn't help, but smile at the invite, "I'd love to."

While America and France continued to wait for the meeting to begin, they decided to talk about how tedious the past few weeks had been. It wasn't all for the sake of complaining, as some of the nations might have assumed, but they were just enjoying the relief that venting gave them. Especially since they knew that the other was listening. By the time a sudden silence washed over the room as a signal for the beginning of the meeting (also, since no one showed any signs of budging from their seats), America decided to gather up some of his notes, and walk over to the front of the room in order to grab everyone's attention. However, before he was even able to start his presentation, England decided to yell out, "Hey, no one ever said that you could present first, you bloody idiot!"

America shrugged, "No one else seemed ready to present, so I just thought it'd be relevant if I went first."

Other nations, along with England, began to object the explanation. Of course, this was typical for the American. He could just brush it off as soon as the protests (that were now turning into that of harsh insults) died down, and begin his presentation. Yet even though America didn't mind most of the insults, he could help but visibly flinch when he heard one of the nations yell out, "Why don't you just leave this meeting!? It's obvious that no one wants you here! All you ever do is waste everyone's time!"

More and more insults were mercilessly hurled at America, as if the troubled nation wasn't being overwhelmed by perturbation. Sure, it wasn't the first time America was verbally attacked by a group of nations in the middle of a meeting, but France couldn't help but feel himself begin to tremble. It was as if the rush of adrenaline was too much for his body to handle. By the time the edge of his vision became blurry, something inside of France snapped, causing him to yell out, "ENOUGH!"

Every nation in the room turned their gaze towards France at the sudden outburst; stunned to say the least. After giving a few nations an intimidating glare, France continued in a much more quiet voice, but no doubt, the tone was still exceedingly venomous, "Just let Amerique share his presentation, okay?"

After a few more moments of awkward silence, America decided to start his presentation, despite the fact that most of the nations in the room were still staring at a now embarrassed France. As France attempted to ignore the overwhelming gazes of the other nations, he began to ponder, _I know that I care for Amerique. A lot. But I still can't believe I just did that. Has my_ _béguin really become something more?_ France casted a quick glance at America, before concluding his thoughts, _Well, isn't this just great? Now I'm going to be in so much pain if he ends up rejecting me._

Even though the meeting only lasted for about an hour (since most of the members of the meeting didn't have much to share), to France, the meeting could've lasted for an entire year, and he still wouldn't have been able to distinguish the difference. Yet, the apprehension that continued to eat at France while he slowly put away the blank paper that was suppose to be used for notes was replaced with that of euphoria when he heard the excited voice of America ask, "Hey France, what do you want to do now?"

Unfortunately, the conversation that had only just begun was immediately interrupted when a certain British accent decided to say, "Excuse me, but I would like to have a word with France for a moment."

After giving him a glance of confusion, France followed England out into the hallway, where no one else was present. After studying France for a moment with a suspicious glare, England questioned, "What's gotten into you lately?"

Dumbstruck by the question, France decided to ask, "What do you mean by that?"

With a sigh, England decided to elaborate, "You haven't been acting annoying or flirty lately, not that that's a bad thing. But what the bloody hell was the sudden outburst for?"

"I was only trying to defend Amerique," France explained, feeling a blush creep onto his face, "everyone would not stop tearing him apart. It was hurting him. I had to do something."

"Still, don't you realize how- wait a minute!"

England couldn't help but scowl when he put two and two together about the situation. After an intimidating silence completed it's job at enhancing the rising, one-sided tensions in the air between the two nation, England accused, "You pervert! You're starting to have feelings for America, aren't you!?"

"No I don't!" France denied, shame beginning to prickle at his skin when he realized how childish his response must have sounded. Yet, kept his composure, and added in a much more mature fashion, "I'm just trying to be a very bien ami to him."

"I don't buy it," England replied, and added with a threatening tone, "Now, if I find out that you've been touching him without his consent, I'll be sure to find a way to kill a nation!"

France watched as England returned to the meeting room, hurt lurking in the depths of his eyes. Of course he was aware of the fact that England didn't exactly trust him, but indirectly being labeled depraved… was that really how England saw him? Did he really just see him as nothing more than a perverted, vile creature? Suddenly, France clenched his hands into tight fists as he muttered, "You know what, I don't care what that black sheep says anymore! If I end up kissing Amerique right in front of him one day, he can deal with it!"

Meanwhile, back in the meeting room, England was walking up to America, who was currently in the process of putting his notes away. By the time he was only about a few feet away from the American, England told him in a quiet voice, "America, I need to tell you something."

Rolling his eyes, America turned to face England and grumbled, "What do you want now?"

England lowered his voice to a whisper, so that no other nation in the room aside from America would be able to hear him, "I think France has strong feelings for you."

America whispered back, "Who doesn't France love?"

"No America," England tried to elaborate, "I think you've become France's love interest. He doesn't seem to be interested in anyone aside from you lately."

"So?"

"Alfred!" England hissed, losing his patience with the young nation, "Doesn't this disturb you at all? Who knows what sick fantasies he's been having about you? I really think you should stop spending so much time with him."

"And I think you're full of it," America retorted, "France knows that we're in a platonic relationship, and I doubt he'd try to sexually assault me. Besides, if he did, I can defend myself."

"America, stop acting like I don't know what I'm talking about," England snapped, "I'm just trying to help you!"

"It'd help if you'd stop acting like you care about me when clearly," America paused for a moment, a flash of hurt making America's glare all the more piercing, "You don't."

England's expression softened as he asked, "What makes you think that I don't care about you?"

"It's so obvious," America stated, "You're trying to stop me from hanging out with one of the only nations that treats me with any respect nowadays. Not only that, but you join in with everyone else when they start ganging up on me."

America paused to turn his gaze away from England, and continued, "Usually I don't care about what others think, but this is just getting ridiculous. Do you even realize what you say to me half of the time?"

"Alfred, you know I don't mean it. Look, I'm really-"

"Just go," America retorted, his voice frighteningly serene, "I don't want to hear it."

When England finally decided to walk away, after standing in silence for a few moments, America returned packing up his notes. This time, instead of expressing much optimism towards the action, he just couldn't help but feel more dejected as time passed. _I just don't get it,_ America began to think as a storm of melancholy continued to deluge his mood, _England's just not making any sense lately. He keeps on claiming to care about my well being, but then he'll start treating me like I committed some outrageous crime._

America flinched when he felt a pair of arms pull him into a gentle embrace from behind. After recovering from the shock, he decided to look around for a moment to find that he (aside from whoever was holding him) was alone in the meeting room. Which was none the less, quite alleviating. After all, America was (usually, just usually) the type who easily became embarrassed from receiving affection. Especially in public. America turned around to find that it was France who was hugging him, and asked with a nervous tremor, "France, how come you're hugging like this?"

"Just trying to make sure you're okay cheri," France answered with a smile, as if the whole situation wasn't awkward, "Please, don't be so nerveux."

"I'm fine," America assured, all while forcing his tense muscles to relax. Then he added, "England just ticked me off, that's all."

"I honestly can't blame you for being a little ticked off."

There was a moment of silence before America finally decided to ask, "is it true that you're in love with me?"

"Well of course not," France tried his best to look convincing, "we're just good friends. Don't listen to what Angleterre says, he's just being paranoid."

 _Wait,_ France mentally winced, _I shouldn't have said that! Who knows? Amerique could have feelings for me, and I might have just broke his heart. Although, that's not very likely._ He couldn't help but be relieved when he saw the casual expression on America's face as he stated, "Oh, well that's good. Even though it wouldn't really matter. I just think it would be a bit awkward if we were hanging out together while you had a crush on me."

France nodded his head in (false) agreement, as a troubling thought came to mind, _Winning Amerique's heart is a lot harder than I thought it'd be, and I already knew it was going to be difficult._

There was yet another pause in the conversation before America finally said, "By the way, thanks for standing up for me like that when everyone else started picking on me."

France's smile widened as he replied, "It was nothing, really."

"Still, I really appreciate it."

While France continued to gaze into America's deep azure eyes, he inwardly asked, _How can anyone hurt this beautiful creature, and not feel ashamed afterwards? He just looks so innocent all of the time, as if he wouldn't even understand why anyone would try to hurt him._ France continued to examine America's features, _He's kind of like a puppy._

* * *

 **Translation: béguin (I believe that it's French slang for a crush. I'm not entirely sure, well, since I only know the basics of the French language.)**

 **I'll only do translations on a word if it's either not a conjugation, or a word that's not commonly used in fan fictions.**

 **Also, it may seem OOC for France to compare someone to a puppy, but I just couldn't help it.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Well, since it doesn't seem like life's throwing a lot of work at me right now, I'll be updating this story for often. Maybe I'll even start updating it biweekly, instead of just once a week.**

* * *

America continued to lounge on the couch out of pure boredom. Sure, he appreciated France's company, but the two never really did anything in the past three days since the meeting. There had been a few times when France tried to spark some avidity within the bored nation by starting up a random conversation, but much to his adversity, it never did seem to work. Even America was beginning to grow somewhat concerned for his lack of emotions. It was just so unlike him to be in such a lifeless state, since almost everyday, he could always find something to occupy himself. Although, the boredom did allow to turn his work in on time; for once. Which of course, resulted in his boss's mood being elated.

France walked out of the kitchen, after putting some food in the oven to bake. Since he had nothing else to do while he waited for the dinner to cook, he decided to go check on America for the tenth time that day. Aside from the fact that America had done nothing more than lay on the couch all day, France couldn't help but frown when he saw unenthusiastic look on the young nations face. Taking a few steps closer, so that he was standing beside the couch, France stated, "I haven't seen you move from that spot all day."

Shrugging, America sighed, "There's just nothing to do."

"Really," France mused, "You're possibly the most active nation I've ever met, and yet all you've been doing for the past three days is lay on that couch. Also, it's seems like you've been looking forward to seeing me, and suddenly; you're just bored?"

"I don't know why," America shifted so that he could turn his gaze towards the coffee table, "I've felt this way for a couple of weeks now. At first it wasn't too bad, but now, it just feels like nothing can interest me anymore."

France smiled, kneeling down to stroke America's hair as he assured, "I'm sure it's just a small phase. You'll probably even return to being your old, cheery self tomorrow, cheri."

"I probably will," America forced a smile, "After all, I can't say that I didn't feel at least a little bit excited about the meeting."

 _Strange, Amerique never gets excited for meetings. Then again, he was probably feeling very lonely._ France continued to run his fingers gently through America's hair, becoming somewhat disturbed by the lack of reaction he was receiving. During the time that France had spent with his love interest, it didn't take him too long to figure out that if America was not feeling uneasy about being touched in an affectionate way, there was definitely something wrong. At least, that was how it worked for a platonic relationship, he had no idea how things would work if their connection happened to be romantic. While he dwelled in an emotional pool of consternation, a theory was developed within France's thoughts for the situation, _I doubt he's been hanging out with any of the other nations lately, since all they ever seem to do is snap at him. He probably doesn't leave his house too often, so perhaps he's become depressed?_

America shut his eyes out of agitation before complaining, "I'm just sick of feeling bored all of the time."

"Mon mignon," France began, removing his hand from America's hair, "It's starting to sound like you've become depressed."

"Depressed," America repeated the word with slight disgust, "No, I'm not putting up with depression again. I've had enough of that in my life already."

"It's nothing to get upset over, cheri," France assured, "it's normal to become depressed once and a while. You just need to figure out what's making you feel this way."

"I've been trying to do that."

For a few moments, France pondered for a solution before he finally announced with excitement, "I know! What you need is some fresh air and light exercise. We could take a hike in the woods. See some trees and enjoy a bit of sunlight, you know. Does that sound agréable to you?"

"Yes, that does sound nice," America glared at France, suddenly looking offended, "But I feel like the light exercise part is a jab at my weight."

"Non Amerique," France sighed as he explained, "I wasn't calling you fat. Now, don't be so paranoid, and remember, whatever rude remarks the other nations make aren't true."

"I know they aren't true."

"But I think you do believe what some of the nations tell you," France argued, "you try to hide it, but I can still sometimes see the pain in your eyes when someone insults you."

"Okay, so maybe it does bother me," America admitted, "But that's only once in awhile."

Since he wasn't in the mood for arguing any further, America decided to call a silent truce by sitting up, so that there was room on the couch for France. France happily obliged, occupying the space next to America. Once they were comfortable with their new positions on the couch, America decided to ask, "So, what are you cooking for dinner anyways?"

"Lasagne," France stated, and then asked, "You like lasagne, right?"

"Of course I love lasagna."

The conversation was then put to an abrupt stop, since both France and America had nothing more to say. After a few moments of silence, France decided to turn on the television, despite the fact that he upheld no interest in whatever programs were available. Meanwhile, America continued to review the few french words that France spoke in the conversation. Of course, he was able to understand most of them, but there was one that stood out. The word sounded interesting to him; as far as he knew, it was an epithet of some sort. After spending some time trying to figure out what the word could possibly mean, America decided to ask, "France, what does 'mignon' mean?"

France turned so that he could make eye contact with America, smiling as if he appreciated the fact that the American showed some interest in his native language. Although, knowing there was a chance that America would not appreciate the true definition of the word, France decided to delude him, "It's just a nickname that some people in France give to their amis."

"Oh," America replied, and then inquired, "well, just out of curiosity, is it some sort of slang word?"

France nodded, "Yeah, I guess so."

"Well, it's nice to have someone around who's willing to translate French," America stated, "I don't really know too much about the language, and google translate's almost never accurate. Oh by the way, have you ever tried translating a random sentence in into Japanese few times to see what you'll get?"

France quirked an eyebrow in order to express his interest, "No, I haven't."

"Trust me, you'll get some pretty funny results," America explained, "but it'd probably be funnier to you if you translated your native language into Japanese a few times."

"Maybe I will try it some time."

France couldn't help but feel exuberant about the recent conversation. After all, it did seem to put America into a much more lively state.

Time continued to pass by, as they waited for their dinner to cook. For a while, France had been zoning out, but was immediately snapped out of his daydreams when he felt a sudden weight lean on his shoulder. France looked over to his side to find America fast asleep, using him as a pillow. Knowing that the lasagna would still have some time before it was finished cooking, he decided to lay America down so that the young nation's head was resting on his lap. He knew that this would be much better for America's neck. Also, France couldn't help but caress the American's head as he waited for the lasagna to be ready. Sure, America was usually quite peaceful when he slept, but the gentle touch managed to somehow make America seem even more relaxed.

As always, the divine beauty that France saw upon America's peaceful features didn't fail to enchant him. After a few moments of observing the youth before him, he decided to slide the glasses off of America's face, and set them down on the coffee table. Yet he couldn't help but be surprised by how different the young nation looked without his glasses. Sure, France had seen America without his glasses on quite a few occasions before, but those specific memories have become somewhat fuzzy when he became accustomed to seeing him wearing them all of the time. Besides, he'd hardly had a chance to see the youthful nation's face free of the monocles in recent years, since every 'chance' he did have at seeing him as such was always when they were in a pitch black room. Now the lighting was just right, for France was able to study every single detail upon America's somehow even more youthful face. Of course, he didn't necessarily have a baby face, but it definitely didn't show any signs of aging.

Cupping one of America's cheeks, France muttered, "You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

While America nuzzled into the hand cupping his cheek, France continued speaking to him in at a near inaudible volume, "It's strange how cuddly you can be when you're asleep, and how dependent you become when you're distressed. Yet when you're just fine, my affection makes you so nervous, as if you're not used to being coddled."

France paused for a moment, to position America so that he was able to hug him, "But that's not surprising. The rest of the world seems to have different views from me when it comes to affection. To me, it sometimes feels as if they treat love as some sort of weakness. They're always fighting each other for whatever reason, and I think that way of thinking has rubbed off on you."

Hugging America tighter, France assured, "I promise to one day make you comfortable with my touch. Maybe one day we could even become overly affectionate in front of Angleterre, and just laugh at his bewilderment."

After holding him for what felt like an eternity, France pulled back so that he could plant a kiss on America's forehead, and whisper, "Je t'aime, mon amour."

Deciding that he would let America sleep until the lasagna was ready, France stood up from the couch, and laid him down so that his head was positioned on the pillow. For the rest of the evening, France was mesmerized by the memory of America's flawless skin against his lips.


	5. Chapter 5

"Alright, we're here!" America announced, dashing out of the car as excitement lurched about within his stomach. France retrieved the backpack and jacket he brought with him, and asked America as soon as he exited the vehicle, "I thought you said it would be sunny today."

America glanced up at the pale grey sky, there was definitely not a sun to be seen. After making his observation, he stated, "So the weather is a bit off. It's still warm enough outside to hike."

France quickly pushed his arms through the sleeves of the jacket, and tugged that article of clothing so that it was tight against his body. Shivering from the chill that decided to set in, he stated, "Look, I just don't think this is a good day for hiking. Why don't we come back tomorrow?"

"Well how was I supposed to know that the weather would be so different from what it was at home? The weather channel even said that it was suppose to be pretty much the same here." America tried to defend himself, "Besides, we just had to suffer through a two hour drive. I'm not returning home until I hike that mountain."

Dumbfounded by the last statement, France questioned, "What do you mean by 'that mountain'? We're not going to scale it, are we?"

"Of course not," America laughed, and then added, "Okay, I guess the mountain thing would sound kind of weird if you've never been on this trail before. Anyways, we're not going to be climbing something like Mount Everest. It's just some random, small mountain that just so happens to have a hiking trail on it."

"So when did you hike on this trail before?"

"Oh, it was just about a decade ago, or sometime like that," America answered, "My brother wanted to go on a nature walk with me, so we decided to come here."

The two nations grew silent as they began to walk on the trail. As they passed through the forest, towards the mountain, France couldn't help but be fascinated by the unfamiliar plants that sprouted from the undergrowth. Also, the few birds that fluttered and picked at the ground did nothing more than compliment the beauty that the land had to provide. _It shouldn't be so surprising though,_ France thought, _After all, I am in the land of the most beautiful nation I've ever seen._

As much as France wanted to appreciate the captivating forest, he simply couldn't when the skin on his face started to prickle from the frigid air. After noticing for the first time that America was only wearing a t-shirt and short, he decided to ask, "Amerique, aren't you feeling cold, at all?"

"I already told you that it's warm out, so of course I'm not," America replied, and then asked when he examined France, "Dude, do you seriously think it's cold right now?"

Feeling slightly offended by the question, France stated, "Your arms are littered with goosebumps, so don't tell me that you're not feeling cold."

"Alright, so maybe it is a little chilly," America admitted, "but I'm sure we'll be able to warm up as we continue to walk. Also, as I've said before, it took two hours for us to get here, so it would be a waste of gas to just go home and not spend some quality time hiking."

 _Okay, fair enough, but I told you that you should've brought a jacket, just incase the weather turned out to be the way it did._ Was what France wanted to tell America, but he decided against it, since he knew that the comment would fall on deaf ears. At the moment, he just couldn't help but feel provoked by his love interest's stubbornness, and he absolutely abhorred it. Normally when France was angry at someone (and of course, it was almost always England), his thoughts would be clouded with ambition for justice, and there was almost no agony involved. Just somewhat crippling irritation that would last for about an hour if he lost the quarrel. However, the anger being shot towards America was just emotionally painful. In a way, France felt as if he was hurting America just for being irritated with him, even though he knew perfectly well that the other nation was not aware of his current emotions. None the less, there was no doubt he was feeling guilty. Eventually, his ire subsided, but was only replaced with that of mortification when he realized, _I guess I did sound ridiculous when I told him we should go hiking another day. Did he really have to tell me that it would've been a huge waste of time and gas just for me to understand his objection?_

France's thoughts were interrupted when he heard an abrupt fit of coughing come from America. Concern flooded in the depths of his sapphire as he asked America, "Are you going to be okay?"

"Of course I will," America assured, "My throat's just been feeling dry this morning, that's all."

"Well, haven't you been drinking any water?"

"Yes, I have, but the feeling just keeps coming back five minutes after I drink or eat anything."

"Cheri, I think you're starting to get a cold."

"It'll be fine France," America turned his gaze away so that he was focusing on the trail once more, "Besides, I think I'd know if I was catching a cold. Also, why does this worry you so much? I mean, since when did a cold kill someone?"

"I wasn't worried," France lied, "I was just stating the fact that you might have a cold."

Once again, France couldn't help but feel ridiculous about himself. When America showed no signs of continuing the argument, he decided to mentally scold himself, _Now I'm starting to ramble on about pointless things. He must be annoyed with me right now._ Then France let out a silent sigh, _Or maybe I'm just becoming too insecure around him._

Fortunately, France was able to conclude his internal battle before it could bother him too much, so that he was able to once more, enjoy the forest around him. Even though he wasn't necessarily the type that would spend hours in the woods everyday, he still found the birds he came across to be rather adorable. He had even spotted a frantic cream colored rabbit dashing through the undergrowth, that reminded him of America when he was clutching onto him out of fear for the horror movie they watched in the middle of the night. France couldn't help but appreciate the fact that the wind and cold had pretty much made his cheeks red, for he could feel a blush starting set in at the memory. After all, France knew that he could be nurturing at times, so of course he'd enjoy helping out a vulnerable America.

At long last, after spending what seemed to be a half an hour of somewhat repetitive walking, they finally arrived at the base of the mountain. France studied the mountain; noting that fact that there were no railings of sort to keep someone from tumbling off the edge. Of course, this didn't bother him too much, but instead made his heart flutter with slight trepidation. Since France had experienced many wars in the past, so it would take more than a hiking trail lacking in some safety measures to set him on edge. Even if the other nations seemed to portray him as being rather poltroon (although, there had been a few times he'd been a bit overly emotional, but he figured that everyone had those moments), he still knew how to fight. After all, he'd been doing so since he was a child (and he absolutely loathed this).

As France began to amble onto the sloped trail, he couldn't help but feel relieved when he realized how wide the path actually was. There was definitely enough room for two people to walk side by side, and not feel as if there was a chance that one of the two would tumble off the edge after a great effort trying to maintain their balance. France didn't even notice that he was absentmindedly walking right next to America, on the side of him that was closer to the edge. The further up they went in altitude, the more gleeful France became at the view of the trees below. He was also enjoying the fact that America seemed to have perked up quite a bit since their previous argument, so France decided that it was safe to assume he was over whatever resentment he might have had.

Unfortunately, France was so caught up in his excitement, that he didn't even notice when he started to walk closer to the edge of the mountain. He continued to lean forward some more so that he was able to perceive a better view of the tree below, until a sudden shriek from America caused him to flinch and lose his balance, "France!"

France gasped when he felt himself slip off the edge of the mountain when a rock that was supporting his weight gave out do to his sudden movement, and tumbled down the steep slope, but before it was too late, he felt a pair of arms wrap securely around his waist, pulling him close to his saviour. Once he was set down so that he was standing on the firm ground of the trail, he looked up at the one who had just saved him from at the very least, breaking a limb, only to find that it was no other than America. This didn't come as too much of a surprise to him, since he knew there was almost no one else around to keep him company, but he still needed a few moments to process what was going on after being shaken up. America rested a hand on France's shoulder and asked, "Hey, are you okay?"

France nodded, before chiding in a shaky voice, "But you shouldn't have yelled like that. You made me lose my balance."

"I was only trying to alert you," America explained, seeming to be somewhat offended by the acusion, "You would've leaned off the edge even if I didn't yell out."

France gave America a puzzled look before asking, "I was really about to lean off of the edge?"

"Yes, you were," America answered, before he added, "Please be more careful next time. I recommend that you don't look down at the tree below the mountain. Sorry about not warning you before hand."

"And I'm sorry for getting angry with you when really, I should be thanking you for saving me."

"It's okay, all that matters is that you're safe now," America gave France's shoulder a comforting squeeze before he added with a smile, "Besides, you don't need to thank me. It's my job to protect people from harm, since I _am_ a hero."

A shy smile snuck up onto France's features when a strange warmth churned in his stomach. He almost felt as if the whole situation was just a dream, and was certainly grateful to know that it was in fact _not_ too good to be true. There was a spark of gratitude in his eyes when he praised, "And I think you're an excellent hero."

Once France and America were both over the incident, they continued on with their hike. America was eager to reach the top of the mountain, and couldn't help but appreciate the fact that France showed no signs of wanting to turn back, even when he did come close to experiencing a horrible injury. Although the weather didn't seem to agree with the two nations current mood, the sprinkle of rain that appeared when the skies darkened wasn't able to make America's cheery mood falter in the slightest.

France on the other hand was not enjoying the sudden change of weather. He already thought that it was too chilly to be outside in the first place, and yet the wind continued to grow stronger until he was struggling to keep himself from swaying. If that wasn't enough to spawn a bout of discomfort within France, the tiny sprinkle of rain had decided to turn into that of a heavy downpour, instantly soaking his jacket and pants. To make matters worse, America's cough (at first, he'd only been lightly once and awhile) had turned into more frequent fits of desperate, near gagging. As much as he wanted to tell America that they should escape from the rain, into the warmth of the car and return to the house, he knew that the attempt would be futile, so instead, he plastered a false expression of joy on his face, which of course, America fell for.

By the time they did reach the top of the mountain, the trails had become slick with mud, due to the heavy rainfall. America wiped droplets of water off of his glasses before checking out the view below him. None the less, he was impressed with the enormous view before him. Although, it was all interrupted when a violent coughing fit erupted from his throat. France rubbed his back until the coughing subsided, and then suggested, "Look, you're obviously not feeling well. Why don't we turn back now?"

"France, I'm fine-"

"No, you're not fine. You're shivering rather violently. Please Amerique. Can we go back now?"

America couldn't help but notice the desperate plead in France's eyes, causing culpability to quickly consume him. After a moment of thought, he decided to say, "I guess I did reach my goal of climbing to the top of this mountain. Alright then, let's head back."

While they began to walk down the trail, and doing so at a slow pace so they didn't slip on the newly formed mud, France stated, "I would lend you my jacket, but it's soaked, so it probably wouldn't do you much good anyways. Désolé."

"Please France, we're going to be back at the car in almost no time. You don't need to be sorry about anything."

Although, since they had to walk at such a slow pace, and the hiking trail was rather long, 'no time' was certainly not the amount of time it required for them to arrive at the car. By the time they were both at their destination, whatever sickness America had became much worse. Not only did he seem to be running a fever, but his coughing sounded more gurgly and violent, and based off of the most recent time he had spoken, France was able to note that his sinuses were stuffed up. Due to the terrible condition his friend seemed to be in, France decided to recommend, "Why don't I drive, so that you can rest in the passenger's seat for the next two hours?"

"Geez France, I'm not that sick. I can handle driving a car for two hours." America retorted, before adding, "Besides, I usually don't like it when other people drive my car."

"Alright, fair enough, but at least let me help you recover from that terrible cold when we get home."

America sighed at this, "If you're really this insistent about getting rid of this 'cold', then fine. I'll let you help me."

"Merci." Was all France said before they both entered the car, and drove to America's house. Much to America's adversity, the drive home turned out to be even more tedious than the one to the hiking trail. Add in the fact that he was growing drowsy from his sickness, and anyone could call the experience agonizing. Even though the heater was set to it's maximum level of heat, he was still shivering from the everlasting chills that wanted to do nothing more than torment the poor nation's already strained body. Right when a seemingly brain splitting headache decided to set in, tears developed in the corners of America's eyes as he mentally asked himself, _Why did I have to get sick now of all times?_

It was obvious France noticed the tears that threatened to spill from America's eyes, for America could hear him ask in a soft, yet urgent tone, "Oh cheri, are you going to be okay?"

Before America answered France's question, he noticed the signs he passed by announcing how they were almost at New york city. Which caused a wave of relief to flush over him, making his headache somewhat more bearable, "I'll make it until we get home."

When they finally did arrive at America's house, France quickly grabbed their belongings, and ushered America inside of the house, despite the fact that it was warm and sunny outside (which of course was completely unlike the storm they were just in a couple of hours ago). As soon as they were inside, France set the backpack, being the only luggage they brought, down on the couch so that he could retrieve a towel from the cupboard in the bathroom. Along with the towel, he gathered some clean clothes from America's closet, and handed them to his beloved while saying, "I can tell that you're still a little damp. Go dry off and change into these clothes, and then lay down in your bed. I'll check your temperature in a few minutes, okay?"

America nodded in order to express his obedience. Even if he didn't agree to let France take care of him while he was sick, he was still too exhausted to object, and his headache wasn't helping the situation at all. By the time America was dried of in a fresh pair of clothes, and snuggled under the covers of his bed, France entered his bedroom, carrying a thermometer, a glass of water, and a bottle of pills. Setting the glass of water and pills down, France kneeled down next to the bed so that he was almost at eye level with America, and spoke in a gentle, yet firm voice, "I need you to open your mouth now."

Right when America opened his mouth, France put the thermometer under the younger nation's tongue. America closed his mouth around the tip of the thermometer, and then opened it again after he heard a small beep. Of course, France made sure to set the thermometer to celsius before checking America's temperature, since he was not familiar with fahrenheit. When he read the numbers that appeared on the tiny screen, he couldn't help but frown when he saw that it read thirty-nine degrees. After setting down the thermometer, and taking out a pill from the bottle he brought with him, France explained, "Well, you definitely have a fever, but thankfully it's not too bad so far. Hopefully, we'll be able to bring that fever down before it gets any worse."

America remained silent; his thoughts were clouded with exhaustion, so he was didn't even bother coming up with a question, or a response of any sort for what France just told him. Handing America the pill and the glass of water, he informed, "That pill might make you even more tired than you already are."

With as much haste as his arms would allow in his tired state, America plopped the pill into his mouth, and chugged down the entire glass of water. Sure, his sinuses were stuffed, making his sense of taste somewhat defective, but that didn't seem to matter when it came to cold medicine, for if the pill happened to decompose while it was still in his mouth, he would have to deal with its acrid flavor. Fortunately for him, he didn't have to put up with that. America handed the empty glass to France, and before the older nation left, after gathering the medication and the thermometer, he stated, "I'm going to make you some soup now. Just try to get some rest before I come back."

America pulled the covers tightly over his shivering form, allowing his head to sink into the soft pillow. The pain inflicted by his headache was almost soothed by the lack of light in his bedroom, along with the comfort from his bed. By the time America had almost drifted off to sleep, he was awoken by the sound of France gently opening the door. Making sure the his blanket was still wrapped around him as he sat up, America grabbed the bowl that France handed to him, and began to hungrily sip the soup's contents until only one fourth of it remained. Normally, he would've been surprised by his sudden lack of appetite after hardly eating a bowl of soup. Especially since at first, he had been famished, but of course, he was completely aware of the reason why. France grabbed the bowl from America's hands, and set it down on the nightstand before giving America another glass of water he happened to bring with him. Even though America was not nearly as thirsty as he was when he drank his first glass, he still forced himself to stomach every last drop of the water. By the time America was finished drinking, France advised, "Go to sleep now, cheri. I'll check up on you later, okay?"

Lying down once more, America's eyelids began to grow heavy. Before he fell asleep, he heard France say in a soft, encouraging voice, "I hope you feel better soon."


	6. Chapter 6

**Yeah, I noticed that I was a week late on updating. Sorry about that. Also, I hope the beginning of this chapter isn't too confusing.**

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America had no idea where he was, nor could he process the scenery before him in his feverish state. An uncomfortable warmth squeezed at the back of his neck, causing sweat to drip down his forehead. Every step he would take would cause his entire body to sway. Or was it just the world that starting to spin around him? He couldn't really tell the difference. Along with the fact that he was failing to interpret anything visual, America was also incapable of processing even a single coherent word in his head. With that being the case, there was no way he could possibly understand any simple concept, whether where he was happened to be in a dream, in reality, or in a hallucination. Suddenly, panic began to grip at America's throat from the intense confusion; breathing becoming more of a chore as if the emotion itself had been personified, and was strangling him right then and there. A silent whimper involuntarily managed to sneak out of his seemingly tight throat as tears gathered up in the corners of his eyes.

The situation was already becoming too much for America to handle, and the fact that a sharp pain shot through his stomach didn't help. His vision began to blur as the agony became much more intense. Even though it felt as if his stomach was being flayed, America could not tell whether there was a figure in front of him, tearing him apart, or if the unbearable sensation was all in his head. More tears of petrifying fright spilled from his eyes, strangled sobs escaping from his throat at a more frequent rate, since his throat was finally being freed of whatever force that happened to be restricting his windpipe. However, since he was in a great amount of agony, breathing was still a struggle for him. Eventually, something inside of him snapped; the anguish he was going through was causing him to nearly go insane. With as much air as he could manage to gather in his tremoring lungs, he screamed, hoping that something or someone would save him from the maelstrom he was in.

Even when the scenery he was once in; which seemed to have mostly consisted of irritating warm colors that wanted to do nothing more than mock the feverish pain he was going through, switched to that of a familiar, yet blurry sight, he continued to scream and squirm around uncontrollably. Panic gripped at his heart when he heard something approach him. He had no idea where to go, since he was practically blind at that moment, so instead, he tried to back away from whatever happened to be nearing him, screams dying down only to be replaced with that of desperate whimpers.

Then, he felt something firm, yet gentle wrap around him. Despite the fact that the touch was not intended to give off an intimidating vibe, America still let out a yelp at the sudden contact. While he tried his best to struggle out of the grip, a wave of confusion caused him to put less effort into his fight with whatever was holding him when he heard a shushing sound. What was it suppose to mean? There was nothing threatening about the noise, and along with the soft rubbing on his back, it was actually rather soothing. Perhaps whatever was holding him didn't want to cause any harm, but instead, wanted to relieve him of whatever pain he was going through.

Yet, even though America had stopped fighting the comfort being given to him and was now gripping the warm figure in front of him, he was still trembling uncontrollably. Whenever a whimper escaped from his throat, he would hear the shushing sound again, which of course, never failed to reassure him. After clutching onto the figure for what seemed to be as long as an eternity, America was finally able to complete a coherent sentence in his mind. Mustering up the strength to speak in at least a somewhat stable voice, America asked, "F-France? I-Is that ... y-y-you?"

"Yes mon cheri, it's just me," France answered in a gentle voice, and then added with reassurance, "There's no one here that can hurt you. Now please, don't be scared anymore."

America nuzzled his head into France's shoulder after hearing those words, a sense of security washed over him upon being held in such protective, surprisingly strong arms. He wanted to stay this way forever; enveloped in the comfort that provided him with enough heat to prevent any chills he received because of the fever from coming. However, the heavenly moment had to be put to an end, when pain shot through America's stomach once more. Pulling away from France in hopes that escaping the heat would ease the queasy feeling that continued to torment him, he yelled in a weak voice, "G-Get a bucket!"

France freed America of his embrace immediately after hearing the demand. There was definitely no need telling him twice, for he dashed out of the bedroom as quickly as he legs would allow him to, and headed towards the kitchen as he began to frantically look around for a bucket. Fortunately, there happened to be an empty bucket right next the sink, so he grabbed it, and made his way back towards the bedroom. By the time he had returned to America with the requested object, he found that the sick nation was already beginning to gag rather violently, and frighteningly enough, there was a slight gurgle to the gags, signalling that vomit could erupt from his mouth at any moment. France brought the bucket under America's head right when the puke began to pour out. If this had been anyone else in the world, France would've been disgusted by the sight before him, but since the one he was helping happened to be the one who was most dear to him, he wanted to do nothing more than relieve America of whatever was bugging his stomach. In a soothing voice, France tried his best to sound encouraging, "That's it, just let it all out."

By the time America had finished spewing the contents of his stomach, France set the bucket to the side, and grabbed a tissue from the tissue box so that he could clean off America's face. After France had finished wiping the remaining vomit off of America's face, the younger of the two started to ramble, tears he hadn't even noticed slid down his cheeks as he did so, "I'm so sorry for being such a burden to you lately. You really don't need this. You shouldn't be putting up with-"

"Shh, shh, it's okay," France threw the now dirty tissue into the waste basket, mentally telling himself that he would change the plastic bag, that seemed to act as a miniature garbage bag, later. Returning his gaze to America, he began to lightly wipe the tears off of the American's cheeks with his thumbs. While receiving such treatment, America began, "I just don't get it."

France stared at America's expression for a moment before inquiring, "What is there to not understand?"

America averted his gaze from France as he continued, "Well, you've always been there for me lately. I know we're friends and all, but I would think with how needy I've been, you just wouldn't be so patient with me as you are now. All of the other nations would've probably ditched me, or try to conquer me at this point, and yet, you continue to care for me."

France suppressed a sigh before saying, "All I have to say is, I am not like the other nations. I simply don't have the heart to claim you as my territory when you're in such a weak state. Simply because I care about you quite a bit. There is no nation that deserves to be taken advantage of in such a way, especially when they can't fight back. Besides, why in the world would I want to ditch you for something you couldn't help?"

Since America had no idea how to respond to the question, he instead decided to wrap his arms around France, and savor the warmth that stopped his chills from coming once more. He was beginning to enjoy the affection France gave him, rather than become embarrassed by it. The whole situation reminded him of when he was just a young colony. At least, during the time that he was a colony before England had to leave for a while to return to his place. No matter how much he'd try to deny it, America was still fond of the memories of when his former mentor would take care of him whenever he was sick, and comfort him when he was upset. However, he couldn't help but groan in disappointment when France decided to step back from the embrace, instead of hugging America back. Lifting up the bucket that was now full of puke, France began to make his way towards the door, but stopped to look back when he heard America's cry of protest, "Wait! Don't leave!"

France paused for a moment, before explaining with a sigh, "I'm sorry, Amerique, but I have to clean out this bucket. Besides, I haven't checked your temperature in a while, and I still need to get the thermometer."

Fresh tears developed in America's azure orbs as faint flashes of the feverish dream he had not too long ago started to torment him. France suppressed yet another sigh at the sight before him, "It's going to be okay. I'll only be gone for a little bit. Now, do you think you could do me a favor, and just try to relax while I'm gone?"

At this point, America knew there was no way he would be able to convince France to not leave the room. Therefore, he decided to give France a reluctant nod. At this, France smiled in hopes of brightening America's mood, "Très bien, mon cheri. Now just remember, I'm only going to be gone for a few minutes."

With that said, France left the room, making sure to shut the door gently behind himself as to not startle the already anxious nation. Of course, he couldn't help but feel guilty about leaving America alone in his room when the young nation was in desperate need of his company, and if America was in a well enough condition, he would've had no problem allowing his sick friend to walk around with him for a bit while he cleaned out the bucket and gathered some of the necessities he'd be needing. Unfortunately, France wasn't even sure if he wanted America to leave his bed at all, since he had no idea how high his temperature was. Dumping the revolting contents of the bucket into the toilet, France thought frantically, _I think he's starting to run a dangerously high fever. It definitely felt like he was almost burning up when I last touched him, and he just seems a bit… out of it. Well, I just hope it isn't too bad._

After he finished gathering the things he would need for his next encounter with America, France entered the bedroom, carrying the now clean bucket in one hand, and managing to balance a thermometer and a glass of water in the other, since he didn't want to make a second trip. Setting the glass of water and bucket down, France observed America's somewhat troubled expression. With his hand that was not holding the thermometer, he decided to stroke America's hair in order to soothe the sick nation, not wanting any stress to make the fever worse. When the said nation finally did relax a bit, he opened his mouth so that France could check his temperature. When the thermometer beeped, he slid the instrument out of America's mouth, and felt his heart drop at the numbers that appeared. Apparently, America's temperature had increased from only thirty-nine degrees celsius to something slightly above thirty-nine and a half degrees. Oblivious of the worry that was present on France's face, America asked, "You're not going to leave again, are you?"

Giving America a soft smile, despite how fretful his thoughts were becoming, France assured, "Of course not."

France then gave the sick nation the cup of water he'd brought with him, and by the time America was finished chugging it down, he set it back down on the nightstand. After a long silence had settled in the room, France decided to break it by stating, "There are some things I still need to get for you that just aren't in this room."

Desperation flooded America's eyes as he suggested, "Well, if you need these things that badly, can't I come with you?"

"Non, Amerique. You're too weak to be walking around the house."

"But, I thought you said that you weren't going to leave me again."

France examined America's hurt expression for a moment as he tried to think of a solution. When an idea eventually came to him, he said, "I guess it wouldn't be such a bad idea to carry you to the couch. Of course, you won't be able to see me too well, since you're not wearing your glasses, and I'll probably be further away from you than I am now most of the time while we're in the living room, but at least you'll still be able to hear me. Do you think that would help?"

America nodded his head in order to express his approval. Before scoping America up into his arms, France made sure to wrap a thick blanket tightly around the feverish nation in order to protect him from any possible drafts. Although, France couldn't help but stumble at the utterly unexpected weight for a few moments. After being surprised at how heavy America was, France thought to himself as his muscles began to adjust to the abrupt struggle, _How can he be so heavy when he's not even fat!?_ Fortunately, France had managed to carry America all the way from his bedroom to the couch in the living room without falling backwards and being crushed by the heavy nation. Once he set America down on the couch, he decided to ask, "How do you feel now? Please tell me if you're feeling any discomfort."

"Well, my head hurts," America stated, "but I'll live."

"What about your stomach?"

"I don't think I'll be throwing up again."

Now noticing how tired America had become from simply laying on the couch, France decided that it would be safe to leave him alone for a few moments in order to retrieve some medicine. Of course, he notified him before doing so, "Please try to stay awake a little longer. I still need to give you some medicine."

America nodded his head in understanding, and with that, France set off for the bathroom in order to grab and bring back the promised medication. When he returned to the living room, after filling a cup with water in the kitchen, he was pleased to find that America had followed his order. As soon as America received the pill and the water, he made sure to quickly swallow the medicine. Of course, he'd also managed to gulp down the water in a span of fifteen seconds, due to how dehydrated he was. Once France grabbed the now empty cup from him, America pulled the covers tighter around his form, and closed his eyes as he was quickly consumed by sleep. France couldn't help but smile as he watched the now peaceful nation sleep, a single thought came to him while doing so, _I'm so lucky Amerique trusts me enough to let me take care of him in such a vulnerable state. I've just been given so many chances to prove to him how much I really care about him._

After savoring the sight before him for a few more moments, France set off towards the kitchen in order to decide on what would be best to feed his sick friend when he woke up. Meanwhile, instead of being faced with even more feverish horrors, America continued to sleep peacefully.


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Okay, so I'll try to get the first ten chapters of this story completed before the end of May. That shouldn't be a hard goal for me to accomplish.**

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America awoke the next morning as rays of sunlight filtered their way through the window, and invaded his closed eyes. Normally, waking up to a bunch of light assaulting his eyes during a late first light would've caused him to be extremely irritable for at least the first hour of the day. Especially since he was not a fan of waking up early, considering the fact that he sometimes stayed up so late. Although, upon his awakening, the first thing America perceived was an agonizing hunger pang that would only continue to claw at his stomach no matter how hard he tried to stifle it. After spending what seemed to be, at least to him, an entire hour ignoring his rather harsh hunger, America decided to leave the couch, in hopes that he would be able to find his friend in his practically blind state, or at the very least, find something to eat for breakfast. However, as soon as America slid the blanket off, he immediately tugged it back onto his now shivering form as tightly as he could, since the air happened to be extremely frigid to him. He just couldn't help but loathe the fact that his desire to stay warm was greater than his necessity to feed himself. His condition was certainly beginning to make him feel more helpless, which of course, damaged his ego; despite the lack of audience he had at the moment.

Sighing in defeat, America closed his eyes, hoping that if he somehow managed to fall asleep, the hunger pangs would leave. Which of course, he was not even able to savor something as simple as a quick nap because of a teasing discomfort from his stomach, and his watering mouth wouldn't stop reminding him that he needed to eat something. Of course, he had tried to detect an aroma of some sort with his virtually useless nose, but alas, even with how stuffed up he was at the moment, he could still tell that there was no food cooking. He'd even tried to listen for his comrade, just as he had been doing the whole time he was alert, and yet there were still no signs proving that France was moving about. After all, the house was dead silent. Well, not entirely dead silent, since there was still some birdsong outside, but the almost noiseless atmosphere was still somewhat eerie to America.

Eventually, by the time France had finally entered the living room, America was grasping his stomach due to the nausea that formed from his hunger. However, France was completely oblivious to his comrade's discomfort, since the younger nation had most of his form hidden under his thick blanket. When France walked over to check on America, he was relieved to see that there was no dismay on his features. With a small smile, he decided to ask America, "Bon matin, Amerique. How do you feel?"

America's response was hoarse from all of the coughing he'd been doing while he was awake that morning, "Very, very hungry."

France placed the back of his hand on America's forehead, pleased with the fact that he wasn't as warm as he was the day before, "Just let me check your temperature first, and then I'll give you something to eat, okay?"

"Okay."

As soon as France returned from the bathroom to sit next to the couch, on the floor, he first handed America his glasses (which he had happened to bring with him on his way to retrieve the thermometer) before slipping the thermometer into his mouth. After approximately a few seconds of waiting, the instrument beeped, and France couldn't help but beam when he read the numbers on the tiny screen. America gave France a confused glare when he saw how overjoyed France seemed to be, and then after a while of trying to figure out what was making him so elated, he decided to inquire, "Why are you suddenly so happy?"

"Because your temperature dropped."

"So?"

It was France's turn to give America a perplexed glare as he asked, "Don't you remember how terrible you were feeling yesterday?"

"Well, my memory from yesterday is a bit hazy, but I guess," America stated, before questioning, "it couldn't have been that bad, could it? I mean, it didn't seem that bad."

"I was starting to really worry about you, cheri," France explained, "Your temperature was very high, and at one point, you were screaming and crying. I don't entirely know why, but I think you were becoming delusional, since you seemed to be so frightened."

For a moment, America absorbed what he'd just heard. Sure, he still remembered his bout of panic from the nightmare, but he just thought that he had overrated. After all, when he thought about the strange 'nightmare', he couldn't help but find the dream to be rather stupid. _I guess being frightened by a dream that literally meant nothing_ would _make me delusional?_ Was the only conclusion America could come up with before finally asking, "So, how high was my temperature?"

"Let's just say that if it was any higher, I would've had to force you to take a cold shower."

America grimaced at the thought of having to take a shower with ice cold water. Sure, it might've felt assuaging to his forehead, which seemed to be going through a bout of everlasting perspiring, but the rest of his body would've had to deal with an irritating sensation of something similar to that of multiple small needles poking at his skin. There was no doubt about it, America enjoyed the soft touch against his skin that sprinkles of warm water provided during his usual showers, and he definitely didn't want to put up with the polar opposite of such a luxury. After having imagined the unappealing sensation, America decided to respond, "Yeah, I'm definitely glad that I didn't have to deal with taking a cold shower. That would've been terrible!"

France put the thermometer away, and then stated, "Well, I'm going to make some breakfast now."

Once France had left him alone in the living room, America continued to wait patiently for his breakfast. Sure, the beguiling aroma that soon came from the kitchen taunted his already queasy with hunger stomach, yet he couldn't help but feel relieved by the fact that he would finally be able to eat something. Although, he was still extremely embarrassed with the fact that he'd waited until France fed him in order to eat something, instead of just leaving the couch and finding some food for himself. Afterall, there had been times when he had a fever while he was home alone with no one to take care of him, and he was still able to leave the comfort of his bed (or in this case, his couch) to feed himself. Of course, America was aware of the fact that he'd never quite had a fever as terrible as the one he had now, but that didn't stop him from being contrite for his sudden weakness. _I'm already being clingy as it is,_ America mentally scolded himself, _France shouldn't have to keep taking care of me like I'm some needy kid._

A blush of embarrassment remained on America's face when France entered the room holding a bowl of oatmeal, and some apple juice. While he received his food, America tried his best to hide the flush that invaded the somewhat tanned skin on his face, and fortunately, he was successful in doing so, since France hadn't even come close to noticing it. After he set the glass of apple juice down on the coffee table, France announced, "I'll go get my food now. Would you mind if I sat on the couch with you?"

As America sat up so that he could take his first bite of the oatmeal, he noticed that his face seemed to have grown warmer upon hearing the request. He couldn't tell if the blush that was still present on his face was from his previous mortification that was possibly becoming worse, or if whatever emotion causing the coloring in his face to be rebellious _was_ still shame. It was a strange sentiment indeed; a mixture of both pure glee, and the heated sensation of embarrassment. One part of America wanted shrink back under the cushions of the couch, and disappear from existence altogether. Then there was another part of him that, oddly enough, wanted to savor France's presence as much as possible. America decided that it would be best to ignore the awkward desires while he answered France's question, "Of course I don't mind."

After grabbing his own bowl of oatmeal and glass of apple juice, France sat down on the empty space of the couch America had generously provided him. A silence settled in the room as the two nations ate their oatmeal. By the time America had finished eating half of his meal, he couldn't help but suddenly neglect his food as he caught sight of the way his friend (who was quickly becoming an intimate friend) was eating. At first, he was absentmindedly watching France eat from the corner of his eye, but it didn't take too long for him to start staring directly at the nation before him. America couldn't help but be intrigued by his comrade's balanced eating habits. He didn't shovel the food into his throat as if he was about to starve to death, nor did he nibble at the food as if he was reluctant to stomach it. What quickly became America's favorite part about the way France ate was the fact that he didn't seem to care too much about mealtime etiquette. Sure, he still tried not to be sloppy while he was eating, but America could tell that he was only doing so for the sake of not having to clean himself up after his breakfast. Of course, America realized that his interpretation on how France viewed the standards of eating could've been off. After all, he'd been told before that he wasn't necessarily the best at reading the atmosphere.

Then, France's voice snapped America out of his thoughts as the older of the two asked with a casual hum; as if being stared at while he was eating was nothing out of the ordinary, "Do you need something?"

It was then that America realized he was starting at France. Averting his gaze from France, America replied as his face began to heat up once more, "No."

America only continued to neglect his food after having been confronted (or so it seemed that way to him) by France for staring. If he wasn't ashamed of himself before, he was now. _I hope I didn't creep him out,_ America thought miserably, _He definitely doesn't need that after having to take care of me so much lately. Besides, why the heck would I ever care about the way he eats? That's just weird._

By the time France had finished the rest of his oatmeal, he noticed that America still had half of a portion of the food that was initially served to him left, and decided to ask, "Aren't you going to finish that?"

America shook his head, "I'm not really that hungry anymore."

With that said, France grabbed America's bowl, along with his now empty one, and left the room once more. Meanwhile, America began to chug down his cup of apple juice, hoping to rid his mouth of the dry feeling that formed during the aftermath of his awkward moment. Even though the juice did quench most of his thirst, his heart still fluttered at a rather expeditious rate. America had hoped that the sweet taste of the juice would calm his frantic heart, but of course, not even food, or anything thing with a flavor seemed to be a possible cure for his sudden maelstrom of emotions.

What definitely didn't help America's internal battle was the fact that when he saw, or even thought of France, he would feel his heart flutter at an even quicker rate. Even though he wasn't entirely sure about what was going on with him, America would continue to put the emotion off as embarrassment. Since he found everything about the situation the be melodramatic, and just wanted to relieve his hyperactive heart, he began to avert his attention to some random object in the room. Anything would do, even if it was an item he was contemplating on keeping. As long as his mind could finally be distracted from whatever happened to be bothering it, it didn't matter.

Surprisingly, America was able to make himself settle down a bit. He'd even managed not to start fretting when France was sitting next to him on the couch once more. At last, the uncomfortable heat that seemed to almost burn his skin had finally left after a while of remaining calm, but was soon replaced with multiple chills which he knew of course, were caused by his fever. France seemed to notice America's sudden bout of shivering as he asked, "Are you cold?"

"A little bit," was what America decided to reply with, and not too long after expressing his response, he was enveloped into France's arms. Then the fluttering feeling in his heart, that he dreaded so much returned. Although, this time instead of loathing it, he… enjoyed it? However, the strange change of mood towards the peculiar body movement was soon ignored as America began to absentmindedly snuggle into the embrace. After a few moments of cuddling with America, France inquired, "Is that better?"

America nodded, resting his head against France's shoulder. He no longer cared about whether he was acting much too affectionate or not. Being in France's arms was not only ridding him of his chills, but was also relieved of any troubling emotions that had been harassing him a lot that morning. Eventually, after quite a while of staying this way, France stated, "You're being rather cuddly today."

America replied in a relaxed monotone, not seeming to care too much about his sudden change of behavior, "yeah."

When America noticed that his glasses were becoming slightly askew from cuddling with France, he decided to take them off, and set them down on the coffee table. Just so that they wouldn't be an uncomfortable burden to him. He really couldn't of care less about whether he was able to watch the movie that was playing or not anyways, for it was simply not his main focus at the moment. Instead, he just wanted to enjoy the one luxury he hadn't had since he was a very young colony. The fact that he hadn't received such close contact in such a long time (at least, it was the first time he allowed anyone to be so affectionate towards him when he wasn't too troubled by something, or asleep) only made the moment all the more enjoyable to him.

It was apparent that France was not paying attention to the movie either, for soon, he found himself observing America's instinctive reactions as he began to stroke his soft, wheat colored hair. None the less, he was pleased to see that his love interest was not resisting his softhearted touch, but instead, shifted so that he was in a more comfortable position within France's arms. As he continued to mindlessly stroke America's hair, France thought, _I've only spent about a week's worth of quality time with him, and he already seems to trust me quite a bit. Even though I'm sure that we are is still a platonic relationship, I can't say that I'm not enjoying this moment with mon mignon._

America on the other hand felt himself drift off more and more into a more relaxed state as France continued to run his fingers gently through his hair. Eventually, he had become so serene that his mind went completely blank. It had been the first time in quite a while since that he was free of any agitating thoughts or worries. He'd even become so carried away by France's affection that when he closed his eyes, he could feel something similar to that of a faint vibration in his head. Not that the vibration was uncomfortable or anything, since it didn't have the same tickling feature that most vibrations normally had. America wasn't even sure if it could be considered physical. As strange as that might have seemed, the vibrations did seem to be a component of his mind. Whatever the strange sensation was, it was too complex for America to figure out, and he certainly didn't want to risk the possibility of becoming stressed from trying to fathom it.

Unfortunately, the stroking was put to an abrupt stop as France began to free America of his embrace, and stand up from the couch. After stretching out for a few moments so that he could relieve his bones of the discomfort from having sat in the same position for such a long time, France told America, "I'll be right back."

America felt himself become more alert when he heard France begin to walk out of the room. He couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed by the sudden lack of heat, but he still did feel grateful for the experience France gave him. When America felt his face heat up, for what seemed to be the one millionth time that day, at the thought of being held in France's arms once more, he mumble to himself, "What is this strange feeling?"


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Alright, after this late update, I now have no right to call myself a good organizer. Hopefully the longer than average length of it can make up for the wait?**

 **The reason why it took me so long to update this is because I'm honestly not too happy with how this chapter turned out. Mostly because warning: There are going to be a few homophones in it. Then again, it was probably only realistic.**

 **Also, some of you may have noticed that I have a profile picture now. It looks like crap, but I'm still proud of it.**

 **Anyways, on with the story...**

* * *

It had been a couple of days since America was over his cold, and France couldn't help but feel buoyant for the poor nation after his recovery. After all, he'd been terribly sick for an entire week. Of course, France was aware of the fact that America's few day period of infirm could've been avoided, as much as he would hate to admit it. Although, he couldn't say that spending time with a sick America was necessarily troublesome. Sure, there was the one day where his fever became so high that France was worried about whether he was doing the right thing to help him or not. There was also the concern that when America was well enough to walk around for about fifteen minutes without wobbling, he would stop allowing his guest to take care of him, and start doing something that would make his sickness become nightmarish once more. France didn't believe that America was daft or anything, his winsome love interest would sometimes just make injudicious choices. That's all.

France looked up at the clock as he continued to think about the past week. Relief washed over him when it read six thirty-two in the morning. His sweetie wouldn't be up for at least another three hours, since he'd stayed up so late. Due to his fervor to start working on his gift for America, France had decided to usher him to go to bed at around two o'clock in the morning. Of course, the younger of the two was stubborn about being put to bed at an earlier time, claiming that he was old enough to go to sleep whenever he wanted to. After having to deal with the American's protest for what seemed to be half of an hour, France realized that he was being too forceful with America. Fortunately though, he was eventually able to persuade his dearest to finally go to bed without causing any unnecessary tensions. After having to put up with that hassle, France vowed to himself that he would never try to be seemingly pushy with America ever again.

He really did have a habit of trying to pamper America, and knew perfectly well that he sometimes did go a bit overboard. As many times as he'd tried to combat the urge, sometimes France just couldn't resist babying him. There were times when he did feel guilty about being overly affectionate with America. Especially since his beloved had worked so hard to prove that he _is_ an independent country. What seemed to make his case worse was the fact that he, in all honesty, sometimes did still see a soupcon of something akin to a dependent child within the younger nation. America's bright blue eyes certainly did have that charming innocence to them.

Despite the fact that his thoughts caused him to go through a bout of procrastination during the making of his gift, France had managed to finish up with his project before the clock struck eight. Usually, it didn't take so long for him to make what he had made for America, but since he didn't want to risk waking America up with any machinery that would've surely sped up the process, it had ended up seemingly taking forever. Besides, he'd made a few minor mistakes during the making of his little surprise that ended up causing him to take even longer. Thankfully, the errors didn't mess with how his project turned out. France had made _sure_ that everything about his gift for America was perfect. After all, such a benevolent, handsome nation didn't deserve to be insulted by an offering that was inferior to perfection. If there wasn't a great amount of hard work and heart put into the present, it was not worthy of America. At least, that was what France believed. Such a strict standard might have sounded peculiar to anyone else. Usually, since France was typically such a laid back individual when it came to expressing his benignity (not to say that he just didn't care for others, it was simply a talent that came easily to him), it was certainly obvious that he was dedicated to prove to America how much he cared for him. Even after his young friend had already allowed himself to be vulnerable towards him. Perhaps his tenacity was becoming a bit out of hand.

France couldn't help but feel relieved for the fact that, so far, he wasn't being hit with waves of exhaustion. After all, he had stayed up all night just planning and preparing the gift for America, and he certainly wasn't going to allow himself to sleep during the day. Instead, he intended on staying awake and spending some time with America. It wouldn't be an easy task if his avidity decided to give up on him, but it wasn't as if forcing himself to stay awake came at too much of a price. He could very well end up being tired for a few days. Possibly even an entire week. Even though France did sort of loathe being exhausted, but he knew it would be worth it. Besides, he'd been feeling rather insomniac lately anyways, so perhaps this once he would be lucky enough to be one hundred percent enthusiastic the entire day?

Sipping down a mug of coffee, France began to make some breakfast. He didn't necessarily make anything fancy; just a batch of blueberry muffins, some chopped up fruit, and a large omelet for America with green onion, tomatoes, and some leftover ham from the day before. By the time France was finished preparing their breakfast and set it down on the table, he headed towards America's room at a swift pace. When France arrived at his friend's room, he gave the door a small knock. Since he had not heard a response, aside from a soft snoring, he decided to enter the room. France walked up to the side of America's bed, and began to lightly shake his shoulder, all while chirping, "Amerique, wake up."

In response, France received a few grumbles of protest, as America turned away from France, and pulled his overlay up so that it shielded head. Smiling at the now grumpy American, France decided to pull the blanket down from America's face as he explained, "If you don't wake up right now, your breakfast will get cold."

Since covering himself up with a blanket was proven to be futile, America shoved his face into his pillow, in hopes of blocking out the bright summer daylight as he mumbled, "No, I don't wanna…"

"But I have a surprise for you."

America immediately sat straight up upon hearing this. The sudden change of mode was almost comical, as he immediately asked with excitement equivalent to that of a child during Christmas morning, "What? You do?"

France nodded, "It's on the dining room table, along with your breakfast."

As soon as America leapt out of his bed, France made his way to the dining room. By the time both nations arrived at the said room, France proceeded towards the table, so that he could remove the lid to what appeared to be a cake carrier. America couldn't help but gasp at the desert that was revealed. There sat a cake, one that was white for the most part, aside from a few well made butter cream roses. Some of which that were blue, and others that were red. Stars of buttercream formed a line around the top and bottom edge of the round cake. One row of stars being blue while the other was red, just like the roses. At the top of the cake, the words 'Joyeux Anniversaire Amerique' could be read in legible, crimson cursive. As America continued to gaze in awe at the exquisite work of art, France inquired, "Well, what do you think?"

America's eyes did not leave the cake's manifestation as he replied, "Did you really make this for me?"

"Of course," France said before wrapping an arm around America's shoulders, "Joyeux anniversaire, Amerique."

America felt a warmth spread within his stomach upon hearing those words. After all, it had been quite a while since someone aside from his brother showed any care for his birthday. Not even England seemed to pay him any positive attention during his birthday. Of course, this didn't come to him as any surprise, but it still hurt being given a glare of betrayal every time he happened to see England during his birthday, instead of just being wished for some happiness. Even if it was contradicting to what America told England in the past, he still saw the older nation as his father figure. France noticed a bittersweet atmosphere had formed around America when he heard the younger nation say in a much quieter voice than usual, "Thank you."

France gave America a smile at this response before putting the lid back over the cake. When he sat down at the table, he couldn't help but be shocked with the fact that America was already settled down as well, and had already eaten a rather large portion of his omelette in only a few bites. Although, the shock was quickly replaced with perturbation when the younger nation suddenly dropped his fork, and started gripping his chest. After interpreting this for a few more moments, France decided to ask, "Are you okay?"

An abrupt hiccup shot from America's throat before he answered, "I'm fine. I just need to drink some water."

Before America had replied to France's question, he thought that he would be able to rid himself of the discomfort in his esophagus (that was the ramification of having gulped down too much food at once) just by swallowing a few times. When the violent hiccups began, he realized that he would either have to drink something, or deal with this discomfort for at least a few minutes before being able to resume with his eating. He couldn't necessarily say that gulping down water was easy, since it seemed as if trapped air was trying to leave through his throat as he continued to drink. Fortunately, the conflict was soon resolved, and America was able to resume to his meal, but his inability to properly digest his food at the moment still bothered him some. Right when America returned to shoveling food into his mouth (although, he wasn't eating as quickly as he had been before), France advised, "Try to eat a bit slower. You'll choke if you keep inhaling your food like that."

"I can't help it," America explained, "Your food tastes so good!"

"Well, I'm glad you enjoy my cooking so much, but you should really try to just slow down. Besides, you'll be able to taste it better if you do."

After America swallowed his last bite of the omelette, he stated in what appeared to be a more secretive tone, "By the way, don't tell England I said this, but I think you're a lot better than him at cooking."

"Oh, merci Amerique," France beamed, "Although, I hate to be boastful, but I kind of already knew that."

"Everyone knows it. Oh, also, I think you're one of the best nations in this world at cooking," America remarked, before adding, "I kind of wish I knew how to cook like you."

"I wouldn't mind teaching a few of my recipes sometime. I'm sure you'll be able to handle it."

After that, the two nations continued to eat in silence. France only had two muffins on his plate, along with some chopped up fruit, while America proceeded to eat more and more in an attempt to satisfy his seemingly endless void of a stomach. France began to muse while he watched America eat, sipping his third cup of coffee that morning, _How is he able to eat so much and not gain a pound? Perhaps he needs to eat a lot so that he can support his citizens? After all, he_ is _a large country._

By the time both nations were finished with their breakfast, America asked with excitement, "So what do you think we should do today!?"

Despite the larger amount of caffeine he managed to stomach that morning, exhaustion slowly began to cloud up France's mind. Thankfully, he was still able to function properly, despite his sudden dizziness, "Maybe we could go to the beach for a bit?"

Of course, do to how exhausted France suddenly happened to be, he was not at all fond of the idea of going to the beach. It was simply the first idea that popped into his mind, and the only reason he had expressed it was so that he wouldn't disappoint his overjoyed friend with a lousy 'I don't know'. America appeared to be oblivious to how unenthusiastic France was about the plan as he chirped, "That sounds like a great idea! Why don't we go right now?"

"Okay," was all France decided to respond with, waiting on the couch as America began to prepare for the beach. By the time he was finished and was in the living room with France, he noticed that the older nation hadn't even bothered to prepare for the event. Tilting his head in confusion, America asked, "Aren't you going to go swimming?"

France was completely aware of the fact that his request must have seemed a bit contradicting, since his antipathy in swimming at the moment might of been showing. After a moment of hesitant thought, France decided to try out an excuse, "Sorry Amerique, I just realized that I don't have any swimming gear with me at the moment."

When it looked as if America was going to reply to the rather dispiriting news, France added with much needed haste, "Of course, I have no problem just wading in the water."

"Well, I was about to recommend that we could just go to the store real quick and buy you some swimming gear." America stated. At this comment, France decided to reveal some of the truth, "To be honest with you, I don't really feel like swimming. I just thought that it would be something you'd want to do, and perhaps you'd be keen on showing me how good you are at swimming?"

"Oh, I understand," America responded with a smile, "I'm sure that as long as you're willing to at least walk in the water, we'll still have fun. Also, I don't really go swimming that often, so I don't think that any of my 'tricks' would be that impressive."

"But you seem to have a swimmer's body."

"That doesn't mean anything if you don't practice."

When their conversation had been concluded, they both headed out to the garage and entered the car. Before America began to drive, he stated, "Oh, just a heads up, this is going to be a one hour drive."

France nodded in understanding, and started to lean so that he was resting against the car door. By the time they had left the city, exhaustion from having sat unmoving for a while washed over him. It was quite a disagreeable sensation, to say the least. Especially because of the fact that even if France did want to go to sleep, there was no way that he'd be able to, due to how quickly his heart was beating at the moment. Stifling the urge to groan, he decided to scold himself, _I shouldn't have drank three cups of coffee this morning. That was definitely a bit much for my body._

To make matters worse, a rumbling noise from the car continued to taunt the poor nation, as it would seemingly try to lull him to sleep. Even when France did close his eyes, and attempted to relax, a non-consensual excitement would lurch about in his gut.

France couldn't help but feel relieved when they had finally arrived at the beach. When the two nations exited the car to observe the current condition of the littoral, France was shocked, to say the least, by the fact that it was completely deserted. This seemed to cause America to yell out in excitement, "Hey, we get the beach all to ourselves!"

"Yes," France stated with agreement, "But it is a rather nice out today, so I don't see why there isn't anyone else here."

"How is that a bad thing? We have the freedom to have more fun, since no one will really get in the way."

After that was said, America threw off every article of clothing aside from his trunks, and dashed into the water. By the time water was all the way up to his stomach, he called out to France, "Hey, the water feels great!"

France made sure that the sleeves of his pants were rolled all the way up to his knees before joining America in the water. Immediately after doing so, he was poked on the shoulder, as America declared, "You're it."

France had to stifle the urge to groan with annoyance as America began to dart once more through the shallow water. The last thing he wanted to do in his tired state was try to keep up with an energetic, young nation. When America glanced back at France to find that he was not chasing him, he immediately stopped, and started to complain, "Aw c'mon France. You're being so boring right now."

"Fine," France said with a sigh, and began to take part in America's game. After all, he figured that it would be quite rude to completely neglect America's current need for disporting. Especially on his own birthday. After a while of running around, most of the exhaustion France had forced himself to endure was starting to subside, much to his relief, of course. It was quite a rare occurrence, and therefore he decided to just ignore it in the fear of jinxing himself if he paid it too much attention, and continued to frolic (instead of unabating with his past unenthusiastic state) with America. That was until France accidentally tripped while running through the water, and landed on his knees and hands, causing his shirt sleeves up to his elbows and most of his pants to be completely soaked. He couldn't help but feel agitated by the sudden amount of weight that was now clinging to his body from the damp clothes. Before France had a chance to stand up, he was immediately attacked by America's protective tendencies; much to his annoyance. After having stood France up, despite the fact that he was more than capable of doing so himself, America asked, "Are you alright? Was I running too fast for you? You're probably mad at me for getting your clothes wet. Sorry about that."

"It's fine, Amerique," France assured, as he forced himself to relax, despite his sudden discomfort. Besides, he couldn't really stay annoyed with America anyways. Especially since the younger nation would always manage to find a way to make up for any vexation he would cause; whether it was through a simple act of kindness, or just the charming atmosphere he somehow was able to express whenever he showed any signs of bona fide guilt. Seeing as that same legitimate capability was still upon America's expression, France elaborated his response, "Look, I appreciate the fact that you care for my well being, but I'm in no pain at the moment. Besides, my clothes were becoming wet from all of the splashing anyways. Now stop worrying, mon ami."

"Alright, that's good to hear. I guess I was just a bit worried that you skinned your knee on a rock or something," America said, in response to France's reassurance, but decided to change that topic when he realized that he was beginning to ramble, "Why don't we go dry off in the sun now?"

France nodded his head in agreement as America retrieved a couple of towels, and laid them out on the sand; making sure that they were at least several feet away from the shoreline, in case a high tide began to pick up. Then he opened a small cooler akin to that of a lunch box, and withdrew two Ziploc bags full of sandwiches from the container. Opening up the Ziploc bag so that he could take a sandwich from it, he held it out to France, who was now sitting on a towel next to him, and inquired, "Sorry, it's a little squished, but would you like a sandwich?"

"Sure," was all France said, as he grabbed the sandwich from America's hands and immediately started to take small bites from it as he watched the tranquil water, that was quickly becoming a glassy illusion. By the time both nations had finally dried off after their long period of sunning, and when America had managed to scarf down all of the food he brought with him (which was quite a bit for just a snack), they packed up their meager amount of luggage, and began to make there way back to America's house. As soon as they arrived to their destined location, America gathered up a more decent pair of pants, since he didn't want people in public to glare at him for wearing trunks, and walked into his bedroom to change. As soon as he was changed, France decided to ask him, "Why don't I buy you some ice cream now?"

America's eyes seemed to brighten upon hearing this offer, "France, you don't have to buy me any ice cream."

"Come on, Amerique. You already know that I love doing things for you. Besides, it's your birthday, so it's necessary."

"Alright."

When France noticed the childish bounce in America's step as they walked out the door, he couldn't help but think with adoration, _Sometimes, it feels like he's just a very big kid._ However, France was incapable of enjoying the moment any longer, for sudden wave of exhaustion hit him. The blinding sunlight definitely wasn't helping either, as an intense summer heat was absorbed by his clothing and hair. France wasn't entirely sure why he was suddenly so sensitive to the sun's light; his only educated guess being that it was due to having to walk in such a weary state. As every waking moment of forcing himself to traipse dragged on, France continued to become more and more desperate to arrive at their frigid destination. Although, he did appreciate the fact that his American love interest seemed to be oblivious to his current state.

By the time France and America were settled at a table in the ice cream parlor while the younger of the two began to eat his ice cream, France rested his forehead on his hand, and closed his eyes in hopes of being able to catch up on some much needed rest. However, his futile attempt was interrupted as he heard America ask, "Are you okay?"

France set down his hand so that it was resting on the table, and opened his eyes so he could properly reply to America's solicitude, "I'm fine. Just a bit tired is all."

"How come?"

"I stayed up all night making that cake."

America furrowed his eyebrows at this answer, "Wow, you hypocrite."

"I know, I know," was what France said in response, as if he'd expected those very words, "perhaps that was a bit hypocritical of me, but I was just really eager to make you a nice surprise."

"Oh well, I guess it doesn't matter now," America stated with a sigh, "and I do appreciate the thought and effort you put into my birthday, but you really didn't have to do that for me. And you especially didn't need to stay up all night doing so."

"Sorry about not being so enthusiastic."

"You're fine," America assured, "I don't think I'm really going to be doing anything until the fireworks anyways when I come to think of it, so you'll have a lot of time to take a nap."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"There's too much caffeine in my system."

"Oh," was all America said in response, hoping that he sounded at least a bit sympathetic towards France's situation. After all, he knew how terrible it felt to force himself to stay awake with caffeine when his body was in desperate need of some sleep. As he finished up the rest of his ice cream, America thought, _At least he doesn't have to do any work right now. Still, I think it would be a good idea to at least make him comfortable so that he might have a chance at getting some sleep._

* * *

America continued to watch the firework as a tired France leaned against him. Not that America really did mind that much, even if a few parents walking by gave him a glare for even daring to cuddle with another man in public, especially in front of their children. It wasn't as if they were taking the cuddling to an inappropriate extent (which would've made no sense, since it was clearly just affection any good friend would express), and the only reason he was doing it was so that France could be more comfortable in his sleepy state. Besides, it was America's voluntary job to make sure his friends were secure, no matter what.

Although, he couldn't help but feel disappointed when the fireworks were over. After all, America really was enjoying that serene moment with France, despite all of the negative attention he was receiving from giggling teenage girls and from adults who seemed to be appalled by his unsullied actions, for whatever reason. America rolled his eyes when he received yet another glare from a woman who looked to be in her fifties, and thought angrily, _These people are acting like they've never seen two men cuddle before. Seriously, what's the big deal?_ Although, that thought may have seemed a bit ironic, since not too long ago, America would've been mortified by the idea of letting himself look too affectionate in the public's eye. Even if the witnesses were his own citizens. It was actually rather common for nations to not enjoy the idea of looking vulnerable in front of everyone, and America was relieved that he was able to overcome that silly paranoia around France.

Even when America was still receiving looks of disapproval, he continued to ignore the rising tensions rising within those various individuals as he stood France up and asked, "Is that caffeine gone from your system yet?"

"For the most part, yes," France answered, "but I still don't think I'm able to fall asleep."

"Well, I'm still wide awake, so I guess we could just watch some movies until you fall asleep."

France nodded, figuring that spending some more relaxing time with his comrade would help him fall asleep. After America picked up the blanket they were sitting on, he wrapped a supportive arm upon France's shoulder as they began to walk home, causing him to melt somewhat at the affection. However, the ever so sweet mood was interrupted when they heard laughter erupt from behind them, while someone yelled out, "Look at those faggots!"

America turned his attention towards the source of the guffaw, to find that it was a bunch of older teen aged boys. The laughter couldn't be compared to the giggles that came from the teen aged girls, since there was clearly aggression being expressed within this bout of boisterous laughter. It was almost as if these teenagers were lowering at them as if they had found the perfect prey. America knew exactly what they were planning to do, so he decided to quicken his and France's pace, hoping that being around some more people would drive them off.

France on the other hand had no idea why America seemed to be intimidated by those teen aged boys. Of course, he was probably too tired to interpret any of the aggression. Even though France could speak English quite well, due to the fact that he's been using it for quite a few years, he still wasn't one hundred percent sure what a 'faggot' was suppose to be, but he could definitely take a guess. For all he knew was that it was a derogatory term of some sort, possibly even an American slang word. France knew that it probably seemed a bit unintelligent of him for not being able to figure out a word that was close to a word in his own language, but then again, the way the teenagers used it just didn't seem to make sense with his original definition of the word. Of course, there was always that one possibility that he could mean something entirely different from what he thought he could've meant. Whatever the case may be, France decided that it would be best just to quicken his pace along with America's, since the younger nation was completely sure of what the teenagers were saying.

When America looked behind him to check if the teenagers were still there, he couldn't help but feel enraged by what he saw. The group seemed to be studying France's figure, as if they were trying to estimate how strong he was. Knowing that France appeared to be an easier target, with his smaller form and what not, America tightened his protective grip around him, and gave the boys a look that clearly said, 'try anything, and I'll beat you bloody!' He really did hate threatening his own citizens, but these boys were really starting to set him on edge. The only thing that America could feel grateful for in his current situation was the fact that he was now walking with a large crowd, so there was no way the teenagers would be willing to try anything.

By the time the two nations finally arrived at their destination, America checked the street to see if the teenagers were anywhere nearby. When he saw no sight of them anywhere, he allowed himself to calm down a bit, finding comfort in the fact that they had no idea where he lived, and therefore, wouldn't try to do anything terrible such as egg his house. After all, he didn't want to waste away his time trying to scrub drying yolks off of his house and possibly cause some damage to the paint in the process.

As soon as America entered his house, he immediately walked towards the kitchen to find something to snack on. All of his irritation was making him have the urge to start binging. Deciding that some Cheez-its would be the best way to relieve his stress, he grabbed a box of them from the cupboard, and walked into the living room to put in a movie before sitting by France on the couch. He felt himself relax some more when he started munching on the crackers. What also really helped relieve America of his previous irritation was the fact that France didn't seem to be at all shaken up by the intense encounter they had with those teenagers. The nation was already quite weary as it was, and his body was having to deal with a more than ideal amount of caffeine in its situation. He didn't want France to become stressed.

About halfway through the film, America shoved his hand into the box of Cheez-its, only to find that it was completely empty. He'd just opened the box too. Glancing down at the now empty box, as he thought with disappointment, _That was the fourth one I've emptied this week! I really need to stop eating so much._

Since he was becoming bored of the movie, and wouldn't be allowing himself to eat anything else that night, America stood up from the sofa and told France, "I'm going to take a shower now."

"Okay," Was all France said before America left to gather up his clothes and head off to the bathroom to take his shower. By the time he was finished cleaning himself up, America returned to the living room to check on France, only to find him asleep on the couch in a rather peculiar position. He was curled up in somewhat of a fetal position, with his head hanging off the side of the couch. It almost looked as he was about slide off. America couldn't help but suppress a small laugh at the sight. He was almost half tempted to take a picture, but instead, he decided to muse, "That doesn't look very comfortable."

America walked over next to the couch so that he could scoop France up into his arms, easily carrying him to his guest's room as if he was as light as a house cat. When he set the older nation down on the bed, America tucked him in so that the blankets were wrapped tightly around him. America was about to make his leave after making sure that France's sleeping conditions were comfy, but instead decided to stare at him, as he was mesmerized by his sleeping form, _Is it weird that I think he looks a little bit… cute?_ After a few moments, America realized what he had just thought, a blush spreading onto his face as he scolded himself, _Yes, of course that's weird! Now stop staring at him and get out of here!_

America hastily darted out of the room, but made sure to close the door quietly behind him as to not wake France. By the time he was right outside of the guest's room, he couldn't help but smile as his blush grew more intense. After a moment of overcoming his strange bout of glee, America muttered, "Well, this is really starting to become awkward."

For the rest of that night, until he went to bed, America tried to distract himself from the image of France sleeping ever so peacefully, that seemed to be imprinted into his head. America never thought that he would admit this, nor did he even really notice it before, but he figured that France was a rather handsome nation.


	9. Chapter 9

America checked the guest's bedroom to make sure that France was still asleep. Finding that his friend was still asleep, he decided to enter his own room in order to grab a pad of sticky notes from his computer desk drawer, and peeled a piece of paper from the pad and jotted down, _Hey France, I'm going to be gone for a while. You can expect me to be home at around,_ America paused in his writing in order to check the alarm clock. When he found that it was nine o' seven in the morning, and after estimating how long it would take to walk to and from and search for the type of shops he was planning on going to, along with adding the amount of time it might take for him to gather up the things he would need, he continued, _maybe tennish? I'm not quite sure how long it's going to take me, but I should definitely be back before eleven. And as always, you don't need my permission to cook if you're hungry, since you're so good at it :). ~ America_.

As soon as America was finished with writing the note, he couldn't help but be somewhat surprised that he'd managed to fit so much writing on one small piece of paper, especially since his handwriting could sometimes take up a regular sized sheet of paper in only a matter of one hundred words, as so it seemed. After spending a few moments to stare at his handwriting in awe, he returned to France's room, searching around for the best place to stick his note, so that France would be aware of it. After a few seconds of thought, America decided that the best place for his note would be on the side of the door that France would be at when he would open it to leave the room later that morning. He even made sure that it was at eye level, since America happened to be so paranoid of the possibility that France could end up being left in the dark. Once he was finished with making sure that there was no way France could miss seeing his message, America left.

America couldn't help but be a bit shocked at how nippy it was outside. Although, compared to the eighty degrees weather he had been forced to deal with throughout the course of the summer, it also came to him as somewhat of a relief. In fact, before he'd gone outside, America had been dreading the thought of walking two miles in what he believed was going to be even more harsh summer conditions than the ones he was only just becoming accustomed to. There was no doubt about it; America was definitely beginning to believe that walking to where most of the stores in the city happened to be was a much better alternative than just taking a ride, or worse yet, driving (there was just too much traffic in that part of the city, and aside from that factor, he'd been eating so much in the past few weeks, so he didn't want to become completely sedentary, or worse yet; gain weight).

After taking his time to relish the soft breeze, America finally arrived at his destination. Deciding that he'd spent enough time basking in the relaxing zephyr, America began to gaze around at the buildings around him in order to find the right store. However, the task wasn't necessarily easy, since America literally had no idea what he _should_ be looking for. It wasn't as if he hadn't spent an entire week trying to figure it out. After all, it was France's birthday, and well, America always had a difficult time trying to figure out what to give others for their birthday. Especially if that certain someone happened to be a close friend. Fortunately though, he was able to form somewhat of an idea of what France might appreciate receiving as a gift; the theme would definitely be more around the lines of, soft or delicate? America had no idea how to describe it, but he didn't want to call the gifts romantic (even though the gifts he had in mind might of seemed that way), since they were obviously still in a platonic relationship.

Still pondering about what exactly to buy France for his birthday, America continued to study various stores. He even went to the extent of exploring blocks he'd hardly ever been on. Finally, after seemingly having to search an entire, rather large section of the city, America found a shop that seemed to be full of the type of gifts he was looking for. After a moment of observing the items on display at the window, America entered the store. Upon entering, America decided to explore the various aisles, in order to see what else happened to be in stock aside from the array that any passerby would've acknowledged. He ended up finding a large variety of birthday cards, chocolates, balloons, plushies, fake bouquets of flowers (although, America would never buy France some fake flowers, since he deserved better than that), and even some cupcakes! Surely the large variety could've given America a much easier time deciding what to buy for France, but instead, it made the process much more difficult.

Eventually, after a moment of thought, America was able to come up with some solutions to his problem. For a start, he began to avert his attention away from anything he wouldn't even consider giving to France, so that they wouldn't be a distraction. Then, after a moment of staring at some cupcakes, an idea came to him, _Well, since I'm not nearly as good at cooking as France, it would probably be best for me to just buy him some cupcakes._ After selecting a container of chocolate cupcakes from the shelf, America continued to gaze around the store aisles in search of something else to buy France.

Then, after having picked out a birthday card and a box of chocolates, America began to observe the self full of plushies, and mentally asked himself, _France likes cute things, right?_ With that thought in mind, he immediately rejected the idea of even considering any stuffed animal that had an exaggerated smile. Maybe it was just him, but the creepy grin, along with the never blinking eyes that some stuffed animals seemed to posses sort of made America feel as if the inanimate object was trying to stare into his soul, or would plan on murdering in his sleep if he dared to challenge its eldritch glare. Of course, he blamed every single horror movie he watched for this ludicrous phobia of his.

At last, after what seemed to be an eternity of rejecting rows upon rows of stuffed animals, he finally decided to settle for a rather pudgy starfish, that happened to be solid blue in color; it's only other feature being a pair of large beady eyes. Usually, America wasn't the type to consider something cute (which of course, only added to the awkwardness of having considered France cute after putting him to bed that one night), but just staring at the plushie gave him a sort of warmth he thought he would only be able to receive if he was holding a sleeping puppy in his arms. Of course, due to this sudden glee that began to stir up within America just at the sight of the stuffed animal, he decided, _Yep, I'm definitely getting him this one._

America walked up to the store counter in order to set his items down so that the clerk (who appeared to be at the least in her late forties) could check them out. While the clerk was in the process of checking out his items, she stated, "Are these for your girlfriend? I bet she's very happy to be with such a handsome, considerate gentleman."

"No, I don't have a girlfriend," America uttered, feeling extremely awkward from the middle-aged lady's comment, "It's just my friend's birthday."

The awkward tensions that were rising between the two seemed to immediately hit the clerk after she heard his explanation, for embarrassment was present in her voice, "Oh, sorry about that sir."

"It's fine."

After all of the items were checked out, the clerk retrieved a crimson colored bag and asked, "Would you like me to put those gifts in one of these bags?"

"Yes please."

By the time America had all of his items in the bag, and had paid for them, the clerk told him before he exited the store, "I hope you and your friend have a nice day."

"You too," America called out in response, before heading off outside. At first, America's initial plan was to just return home, sign France's birthday card, and give him the gifts, but his original intent was immediately interrupted when he stopped himself from passing by a small flower shop. At first, America kept mentally telling himself to just continue walking home, since he had already spent so much time looking for a shop and finding gifts for France, but eventually decided to check the flowers out. He just couldn't help but feel a bit fascinated by how vibrant the flowers colors were.

After a rather long while of gazing around at the various flowers, America decided to pick out a bouquet of roses, figuring that France would appreciate having a bunch of fresh roses for a at least a week, since he always seemed to idolize them. Then, after purchasing the bouquet of roses, he continued on with his walk home. When America finally did arrive home, after having to walk a mile from the store, he couldn't help but feel relieved when the warm air of the house hit face, which was starting to sting somewhat from the sudden harshness of the wind that began to pick up halfway through his what he would now consider, trudge home. Although, he still thought it was worth it, since he still did feel buoyant, despite how sore his legs had become from walking around outside for what seemed to be an hour.

Once America had spent a few moments to enjoy the warm air, he began to look around for a pen, but his search was interrupted when he heard a familiar french accent greet him, "Bon matin, Amerique. I see that you're finally back."

"Oh, hello France," was all America said in response, not even turning to face his comrade, as he still needed to find a pen. However, he immediately focused all of his attention on France when the older nation decided to express his curiosity, "Would you mind telling me what is in those bags?"

America glimpsed at the bag, quickly becoming hesitant for the first time about showing his gifts to France. The fact that the clerk's statement about him having a girlfriend for buying such things was definitely not helping. As if matters couldn't get any worse for the poor American, France decided to continue inquiring, "How come there's a bunch of roses on the coffee table?"

America turned away from France, in hopes of hiding his blush of embarrassment as he mumbled, "There for you."

"Sorry Amerique," France stated, "I can't hear you when you mumble like that. Can you please speak up?"

"I said 'there for you'."

At that point, America's face had become so flushed, he was surprised that his skin hadn't caught on fire from all of the heat. France on the other hand, appeared to be oblivious to the bout of anxiety the younger nation was going through, as he felt a blush of his own creep up on his face, "Aw, that's so sweet of you, Amerique."

Aspiration began to fill France's heart, as a yearning was subsided when his mind began to come up with (what could possibly be considered) illogical conclusions for what message America was trying to give him by buying him roses. Then again, how could the thoughts be illogical? Surely roses were a symbol of romance, so of course it must have meant that America had finally fallen in love with him! France felt his heart beat faster when America handed him the scarlet bag, and explained while staring at the ground, "I was about to sign the birthday card, but I guess it can wait for after you look at your gifts."

When France grabbed a box of chocolates from the bag, America quickly added, "I-I wasn't trying to woo you or anything. These were just the only things I thought you'd like for your birthday. This isn't too awkward for you, is it?"

France felt his heart sink with disappointment at the comment, but instead of expressing it, he decided to mask it with the glee he felt at the fact that someone who was just so dear to him went out of their way to buy him some gifts for his birthday; with such thought and consideration put into them too, "Of course not, mon cheri."

By the time the birthday card and cupcakes were also pulled out of the bag to sit with the box of chocolates that were now on the coffee table, France retrieved the starfish stuffed animal from the crimson bag, and stared at it for a moment with a smile on his face before stating, "Oh America, this is so cute!"

At first, America didn't respond, still staring at the ground as he became more bashful by the second, but eventually, he gained the courage to ask, "You really don't think these gifts are weird?"

France set the plushie down so that he could walk over to America and give him a hug. After all, the young nation was being shy, which he found to be a rather rare and adorable occurrence, and also, he wanted to express his gratitude towards his beloved. His smile never faltered as he told America, "I think these are wonderful gifts. Even for a platonic relationship. You don't need to worry about whether you gave me the wrong thing or not. What I truly appreciate is the fact that you remembered and cared about my birthday."

While France hugged him, America couldn't help but notice the pleasant smell that radiated off of the older nation's hair. For a moment, it was actually able to bring him out of reality, and into his own world where all he could think about was the scent, and well, France himself. He had no idea why he had a sudden obsession right then and there for the nation holding him, but he was certainly enjoying the dizzy sensation he was starting to have as a result of that moment. A smile of his own decorated his face, as he told France in response, "It was no problem, really."

Eventually, America allowed himself to relax in the warm embrace as relief washed over him. He was just so grateful for the fact that instead of going completely awry, this special day had turned out exactly as he wanted it to.


End file.
